


How to be Authentic

by StoriesFromDust



Series: 'Monachopsis' and other pretentious words [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 3rd person Connor's POV, Anal, Blowjobs, Body Dysphoria, Bottom Hank, Concert Connor, Connor has no dick...yet, Connor struggles with Deviancy, First Time, Fluff heals all, Hank is a millenial, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Pacifist Ending, Post-Game, android sex is wierd, author thinks he is brilliantly deconstructing the metaphysical questions of a videogame, he is just thirsty AF, mentions of depression, no beta we die like men, shameless clothes sharing, they're both verse tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-09 03:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15258033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesFromDust/pseuds/StoriesFromDust
Summary: Hank was at work. Connor should be at work. He frowned from the sofa, staring at his jacket across the room. He liked that jacket. His favorite part of being woken up after uploading to a new build was when he put the jacket on and fixed his tie. He was mad that it had betrayed him, become something that marked him as less-than-a-person.





	1. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story went out of control on me. It was just meant to be like, some heavy-handed jacket metaphor and then a blowie, 5k words at best, but I started thinking about some existential shit that I wanted from this game and never got. Explicit rating is getting earned in Chapter 3 or so if that's what you're here for. Anyway, it's Connor's POV but I spent a lot of time thinking about Hank's personality. I hope when I'm an old man I end up just like him.  
> I haven't 100%-ed the game, so I'm sorry if I break canon by mistake. This is just based on what I saw in my play-through.  
> Hope you like it!

The revolution happened.

It wasn't as easy as all that. It had been a powerful moment, sure. But that wasn't _it_.

Connor stepped off the stage after Markus' speech and thought _'Mission Failed_.' He had deviated, he wasn't bound by missions anymore, didn't even agree with the mission. Maybe it was a failsafe that Cyberlife had added that made failure feel so terrible, even when it was the right thing to do.

\--

And then he was just standing next to a stage in the snow.

And then he was hugging the lieutenant.

And then he was getting ready for work.

And then Captain Fowler told him that he wasn't really an employee. He had been _given_ to the DPD by Cyberlife. _Loaned_. And now Cyberlife didn't own him. So…

He didn't have a job anymore.

And then he was just standing outside the DPD in the snow, purposeless.

 

Markus had upheaved everything. The laws about employing androids legally needed to be written, debated, voted into place. Connor would have to apply for a job at the DPD, but he hadn't gone through training or gone to a college.  Even without the legal issues, how was the department supposed to judge the resume of an android versus a human? He, _he_ didn't have more than a few days experience. His last body had died saving Hank from a deviant. Was he _days_ old? Or did his memory upload count as experience? If it did then, what about the other RK800's? Fowler didn't know, Connor didn't know.

This build had deviated when the others hadn't. Did that make him a different person than the last body? That build was gone and hadn't been granted freedom.

"Jesus Connor, how long have you been out here?"

Lieutenant Hank Anderson had come outside. Connor checked his timestamps, "One hour, forty seven minutes and thirteen seconds." It was epoch timestamp: 2173459474 so Hank was likely stepping out for lunch. "I got fired today." Connor said.

"For fucks- you didn't get fired." Hank smacked Connor in the chest with a folder of paperwork. "Fowler's been drafting this up for the past hour and forty seven whatever."

Connor scanned the paperwork. Employment requirements, the current laws and scribbled in the margins on many pieces of paper Fowler's handwriting. He had suggestions for what needed to be changed - which laws Connor should keep an eye on, suggestions for his reapplication process. Fowler's direct extension so Connor can check in on the progress of the department's Android Integration Plan.

"Why do you have this?" Connor asked.

"I was gonna look it over at lunch and give my suggestions to, being the man with the most experience on hand. Let's go grab something."

An assumption of companionship. Connor followed Hank to his car and sat down. It was familiar.

"Do you have a place to go, or are you just going to stand outside the station every day until these fucks get their shit together and let Fowler hire you back?"

"Assuming I will be hired."

"Fucking hell Connor, who could stop us?" Us. meaning; Fowler and Hank. Fighting for his job. Connor cast his eyes downward and smiled for himself. There was a pressure inside, around his thirium pump, it was nice.

"So?" Hank prompted.

"So?" Connor asked, catching himself back up to the conversation.

"Where are you going to stay? Where have you been staying for that matter?"

"I do not require shelter, only a charging station."

"Okaaay, where is your charging station?"

"Many of the remaining android standby docks are suitable for general recharging."

They arrived at the food truck. Hank put the car in park. "Standby d- those little blue boxes they used to shove your lot in by the bus stops?"

"Yes."

"Jesus fucking- you're sleeping at a bus stop?"

"Low power mode is similar to sleep however-"

Hank was looking out the windshield at the accumulating snow, grinding his teeth, struggling with something. Connor thought he might not be listening to his explanation.

"Alright, well." Hank opened his door to leave, facing away from Connor. "You can ask to stay at my place."

Connor blinked. It hadn't been an invitation per-se, just information. An invitation to request an invitation. "May I stay at your house, Lieutenant?"

Hank slammed the car door as Connor opened his. Hank was already walking towards the food truck, "don't be a fucking idiot Connor, you can come over whenever." Then he muttered, "Already busted in once."

\--

Hank was at work. _Connor_ should be at work. He frowned from the sofa, staring at his jacket across the room. He liked that jacket. His favorite part of being woken up after uploading to a new build was when he put the jacket on and fixed his tie. He was mad that it had betrayed him, become something that marked him as less-than-a-person.

Without warning Connor felt a message pop into his mind. A small window in his HUD read:

Timestamp 2173940354: MARKUS: Do you still work for the Detroit Police Department?

 

Connor read the message. Reread it. It had been several seconds, he should have already responded. Markus needed him, but there was still no progress with his reapplication. He was of no use to Markus.

Connor closed the message and texted Hank. ' _May I stay at your house again, Lieutenant?'_

Connor also liked his LED. It was convenient to be able to uplink to cell phones and other androids who had decided to keep theirs. Markus had removed his to prove a point about being a person. Connor thought about doing the same but… well he wasn't a human, he was proud of that. He had been an excellent version of the RK800 series. He left the LED.

After a few minutes, _'?yes ?? duh??'_

Connor scrolled through the past several days of text messages.

_'May I stay at your house again, Lieutenant?'_

_'yea'_

_'May I stay at your house again, Lieutenant?'_

_'yes'_

_'May I stay at your house again, Lieutenant?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'May I stay at your house again, Lieutenant?'_

_'ffs. Yes.'_

_'May I stay at your house again, Lieutenant?'_

_'YES.'_

A clear trend. The Lieutenant seemed to be getting angrier, but it didn't seem like Connor had overstayed his welcome. Work must be stressful these days. He'd been putting in weekend hours regularly. Connor wanted to put in weekend hours, help with whatever case was making the Lieutenant so angry.

Connor was sure he would be able to solve it

Connor _should be there_ to solve it.

The past week had been a whirlwind. Not for Connor, but for others. Laws were being debated, there were global protests for and, sadly, against androids. Markus was on the news nightly. All around him androids were filled with new purpose, working together to overcome the stigma of their existence and guarantee a future of cohabitation.

Connor had considered laying down on the sofa at one point. Humans did that when they were tired. He tried it out. It was fine. No better than sitting up, no worse. He stayed like that for two days. It was not required that he sustain himself in any way other than charging. There was an outlet in arms reach so... He was all set.

He just watched the news, downloaded updates from Fowler, let Sumo drool all over his lap and looked at his jacket.

The Lieutenant coming home was the highlight of the day. It was usually late at night, long after work ended, not that he thought Hank had actually stayed at work that long. Connor could pause the news clips in his mind and focus on the sound of Hank's car thundering into the driveway. The bass going silent. A car door slamming. Keys in the door. The door creaking open. Hank looking over to the sofa automatically. He'd get a drink like he hadn't been at a bar all night and smack Connor in the shoulder, "Long day, eh?" Then he sat at the far side of the sofa. Hank would put something on TV and sip his drink.

The only difference had been after Connor laid down, Hank pushed his feet off the third cushion so he could sit in his usual spot. Connor had left his legs curled up after that.

Today Hank walked in earlier than usual, the sun was still up. When he looked over to the sofa his shoulders fell, visibly. He didn't head to the kitchen to make a drink.

"Glad I caught'cha," Hank said, walking over to Connor. He smacked Connor's shoulder but held firm. Grounding. Hank was _here_. "Gonna take Sumo for a walk."

"Have a good time."

Hank furrowed his brows and frowned. "Gonna take you for a walk too."

"I'm all set."

Hank tugged Connor into a sitting position. "Nah, Sumo's big and I'm old. Need some help on this one, if he goes to chase a squirrel I'm done for."

"You and Sumo are both old, The risk of him running anywhere is low."

"You're a real fucker," but he laughed, the wrinkles by his eyes deepening. Hank turned and grabbed the leash from the hook. Sumo stood carefully, panting like a puppy, but lumbered to the door slow. "You can apologize by walking my dog." Hank tossed the leash at Connor. It hit him in the face.

Walk Sumo. Connor's system processed. The task flashed up in his retinal display. He no longer had to do those tasks.

Did doing them anyway mean he wasn't free any longer?

Nothing had flashed up in his taskbar for days. It was nice to have something back there.

Connor looked at his jacket.

Hank glanced impatiently between Connor and the coat rack.

"I have an old jacket you can wear." He said conclusively.

It was an old leather driving jacket. Connor slipped it on, went to adjust a tie that wasn't there, and paused. He clipped the leash to Sumo's collar.

They went for a walk.

\--

Hank was at work. Connor sank down into the sofa. He hoped that today Hank would come home with a task to accomplish. It had been nice to walk back to Hank's house with Sumo and see the little _'Mission Successful_ ' pop into his retinal display. Happy.

With any luck Hank would ask him to walk Sumo again. Connor accessed the cell network with his LED. _'May I stay at your house again, Lieutenant?'_

He waited for a reply.

He started tapping his foot.

 

Timestamp: 2174057128 MARKUS: Connor, if you have the time please get back to me.

 

Connor closed the message and fumbled in his pocket for his quarter, flicking it across his knuckles.

He could watch the news while he waite--

He didn't really want to. There was no expected progress today, just more televised debates. Footage of protests and riots. Watching Markus making progress that Connor wouldn't be able to help with.

Before he had deviated Amanda had given him tasks. His Job program had generated tasks. Fowler had given cases and Hank had given him orders, not always explicitly stated but there had been clear steps towards accomplishing something on his taskbar. Even after he deviated Markus had given him a purpose and permission.

Connor looked at Sumo.

He could.

You know he could just.

He _could_ put 'Walk Sumo' on his own damn taskbar.

Right?

He was a deviant afterall. He could in fact, deviate.

The mission popped into his retinal display.

Connor slipped on the jacket, it didn't fit exactly. Hank had broad shoulders. Even so it was heavy, comforting, like when Hank smacked his shoulder after getting home. ' _You exist, you're still here, I'm still here. Come back to reality. I'm looking out for you_.' Connor pulled it around him, warm in a way he hadn't been before, and picked up Sumo's leash.

\--

"Connor? Jesus fuck, CONNOR?" Hank yelled through the house, alerting Connor to his presence. Connor was in a different room. He hadn't thought to listen for the car or the keys or the door. "I - ah - I should have texted you back, are you here? You can stay here again, you can-"

"I'm right here Lieutenant." Connor peered into the living room from the hall.

"Shit. you're up," Hank gestured to the sofa, "I thought-" but he didn't finish the thought. "What are you doing?"

"I took Sumo for a walk. Then I brushed him. Then I gave him a bath. Now I'm cleaning the bathroom."

Hank smiled. Then frowned. Then looked to the sofa and back, pointing at Connor "Don't fucking clean up after me."

"No." Connor turned and went back to scrubbing the grout around the sink.

Hank followed over and peered at Connor's progress, "It didn't even look this good when I moved in."

"You're welcome."

"You fucks _died_ to not clean damn bathrooms anymore, stop cleaning."

"No. Cleaning was not part of my function. I am still deviating."

"Fucking. Hell, come on." Hank gripped the top of the doorframe and spoke through his teeth, "I'm glad you're up, I'm glad you're doing what you want, but don't put me in this position."

"You're uncomfortable with the symbolism of having an android taking care of chores you refuse to do."

Hank suddenly switched from staring daggers at Connor to avoiding his eyes entirely. "I'll clean the bathroom, ok? You don't even use it. I didn't think it was a problem."

"I am not trying to guilt you into cleaning."

Hank sagged into the doorway, rubbing his face with one hand. "I'll clean the damn bathroom."

Connor felt puzzled. He could see the yellow of his LED reflecting on the white tile. Hank… seemed to be having a different argument than Connor was having. Connor had been enjoying this task. He had assigned it to himself and everything.

Connor put down the brush and rinsed his hands. "I'll stop, because this is making you distressed."

"Thank you." Hank turned from the doorway and headed to the kitchen. "You really know how to make a thing uncomfortable." Hank poured himself a drink. "Here. This is from Fowler… and me." Hank pulled an envelope from his back pocket, pushing it in Connor's direction. "He's still fighting with the higher ups about your pay. He screamed himself hoarse this morning."

Connor opened the envelope. It was a bank statement.

"Fowler paid two months of your salary out of his own pocket, put it into an account for you. He said it was easier to fight for personal reimbursement while the chief still has his head up his ass."

"This is four month's standard pay." Connor stated, confused.

"Yea…?"

"This build only worked with the DPD for five days before being fired."

"Fuck, Jesus, Connor. You and the goddamn Chief the two a ya, I'm so sick of this existentialist bullshit." Hank slammed his glass down on the counter. "You. _You,_ " Hank jabbed his finger into Connor's chest, "worked at the DPD for four months. I don't care if you were sent by Cyberlife or whatever or how many times they had to send you back, those shits ain't paying you, so we are." Hank took a big swig of his drink, "and will. Me and Fowler just gotta yell ourselves into the grave."

"This means a lot to me." Connor said, quieter than he meant to.

"Fowler's idea."

"You paid half?"

"Wasn't a problem."

Something, a feeling in his chest, he hadn't felt it before. Or… he had, but not internal. Or… he had, but he hadn't identified it. The feeling of a heavy leather jacket, but in his rib scaffolding. Connor smiled at his bank statement, logging the info to his LED.

Hank clapped him on the shoulder, held it there fractionally longer than normal.

Connor called up Fowler's contact info. It was late, but he was still in his office. Connor thanked him, and settled down on the sofa to talk about the department, the chief, resumes. Hank settled in on the other side, sipping his drink and commenting every so often, mostly to talk shit about the Chief.

\--

Connor walked Sumo. He fired off a text to Hank - _'May I stay at your house again, Lieutenant?'_ \- and an e-mail to Fowler - _Subject: Resume review..._

Connor saw another android on his walk, for the first time. They handshook. Not literally, but through their LEDs - a small packet exchange lasting a few seconds -

 

timestamp: 2174137941 JUNE: I am June, I like your dog. I live in the apartment complex on Deering Street.

timestamp: 2174137942 CONNOR: I am Connor, this is Sumo, I am staying at the house down the block. It is nice to meet you.

timestamp: 2174137942 JUNE: I just moved in, Is this neighborhood safe for androids? A-are you the Connor RK800 from the march?

timestamp: 2174137943 CONNOR: This neighborhood is safe, if you have any trouble please contact me, my housemate is a police lieutenant.

timestamp: 2174137943 JUNE: Thank you for what you did. Have a nice walk.

timestamp: 2174137944 CONNOR: Have a nice day.

 

Connor picked up the mail on his way in. Hank left the mail on the kitchen counter. There was a sizable pile already. Including an electric bill.

Connor frowned at it. It was a federal offence to open mail addressed to someone else.

But... Connor had been staying here for more than a week, using power. Hank was so rarely even in the house, most of the electricity use had to be Connor.

Connor tapped his fingertips together.

He supposed it had also been a federal offence to Break into Cyberlife, get an army of androids and march with them through the streets of Detroit to threaten the United States military.

Connor opened the bill, read the account details, and paid with his brand new bank account.

Then, he sat on the sofa, Sumo's head in his lap, and went over the paperwork, legal issues and administrative policies that Fowler had been keeping him updated on.

In the early afternoon Connor received a text from Hank, ' _just don't clean anything i have an aesthetic going'_

Connor replied; ' _I can adhere to that request, technically._ '

It took Hank a few minutes to reply, likely by virtue of needing to type. ' _What'_ then; _'what did you do_ '

Connor smiled to the empty room, that tight feeling gripping his wiring again, it was nice to do things for Hank, and for Sumo, and for the house in general.

A message dinged into his LED. _'??'_

 _'I paid the electric bill.'_ Connor replied immediately.

After several seconds of waiting; _'dont'_ Then; ' _you dont have to pay for anything'_ Then; _'ill pay you back'_

Connor replied; _'I have plenty of money to cover the electric.'_

 _'not the point.'_ then; _'point is - don't pay my bills'_

_'I have used a lot of electricity.'_

_'its been like a week?, i can cover you'_

' _I wanted to show appreciation for you letting me stay at your house up until this point.'_

Connor waited a longer than normal period for the next reply which just said _'ffs'_

_'I am going to the store to replace my jacket. Don't be alarmed if I am not back when you get home. Would you like me to pick up groceries on my way?'_

_'whats wrong with your jacket?'_

_'It is a symbol of android oppression, I suspect continuing to wear it would send a negative message to my peers.'_

_'no'_ Then; _'the leather one_ '

_'That is your jacket, Lieutenant.'_

_'gave it to you'_

_'It does not fit me.'_

_'fits you fine'_

It objectively did not. _'The shoulders are too broad for me._ '

_'never noticed'_

Connor found that difficult to believe. He wasn't really sure why this conversation was happening. He had two tasks on his taskbar; get grocery list and buy clothing. This accomplished neither. ' _Do you need anything at the store?_ ' he asked again.

Hank replied after nearly fifteen minutes; ' _You can stay at my place however long you like, you don't have to ask every day._ '

' _Do you need anything at the store?'_

A long wait; _'no'_

\--

Connor did not understand why that evening was tense. He walked in earlier than he had planned on, only to find Hank home, rather than at a bar. Hank had bought groceries even though he said he didn't need anything and was cooking dinner, rather than eating fast food. It seemed far too deliberate to be a mistake.

Hank must still be uncomfortable with letting Connor fulfill household tasks.

Hank gave him a terse "Welcome back."

There was this pressure inside Connor's chest. Something he needed to do. He couldn't identify it. He ran a systems diagnostic, no errors. Thirium pump was normal, pressure; normal, No damage found.

It was emotional then. Deviancy.

Connor reviewed their conversation history. It had seemed good. Positive. Connor inisted about the bill, but Hank normally responded positively when Connor argued with him and ultimately did what he wanted. Connor had clearly stated his appreciation for Hank's hospitality. Connor had showed appreciation for the salary gesture that Hank and Fowler had given him by sharing his shopping plans. Hank had welcomed Connor into the house indefinitely, was Hank regretting it?

When Connor was forthright Hank usually acted angry, but his demeanor normally improved. There were outliers to this behavior, so it was not a guarantee. Connor had been made to adapt to complex personalities. He sat down at the kitchen table, considering Hank as he cooked. His social adaptation executable, complexAdapt.exe, fired up as expected.

When Connor expressed vulnerability, _deviancy_ , Hank's attitude _always_ improved. Connor bit the inside corner of his lip. So then, the correct thing to say was; _Lieutenant, I am not sure why you seem angry. It feels like it's directed at me. If I have made you feel guilty and thus you asked me to stay beyond my welcome that was not my intent._

Connor didn't like that. If this was about Hank's indefinite invitation to stay then this opened the dialogue for Hank to ask him to find somewhere else to live. Connor didn't want to leave. The problem with expressing vulnerability was that then he had to be vulnerable.

So he said nothing.

The pressure remained.

Hank finished cooking and carried his plate and drink to the sofa. Connor sat next to him. Hank was watching something but Connor didn't care for it. The moment to say something had passed. The pressure reamined. Connor flicked his quarter over his knuckles. Even before he deviated he liked tactile things. The feel of his jacket, his tie, his quarter, expressions, picking up things even when they were unimportant to a mission. Maybe he had been deviant from the beginning. Or the other builds had. Three builds back, he still remembered liking those things.

Hank always insisted that was still him. Connor furrowed his brow and set his jaw, he expressed confusion just for the feel of it.

Hank had finished eating and was working on his drink. He seemed less tense, marginally. It was just the alcohol, not really the resolution of anything, but Hank had sunk into a comfortable position, one arm over the back of the sofa, chuckling at the television, and Connor appreciated the ease of it.

The pressure remained.

Connor liked tactile things.

He touched his fingertips together. Partially nervous, partially testing a theory. He put his arm over the back of the sofa too, and after a moment's pause, rested his hand on top of Hank's.

He didn't say anything, but Connor could feel Hank tense up, then relax. Maybe the alcohol, maybe not.

The pressure abated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna do the most deviant thing I can think of!  
> Hank, cheering in the background: wooo, Yea you show them bby. Deviate! Rebel!  
> Connor, wild eyed; grabs Hank's hand.  
> Connor: … >:3 I'm a bad boy now.  
> Hank turns red and dies instantly.


	2. Jericho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's existential troubles are crushed by the mundane joys of life, like haircuts, music, and making his Lieutenant laugh. Then he does some ethically justifiable crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap you guys, when I posted this I was convinced it was terrible, and then I got such awesome feedback! You are the best, I got all motivated to finish editing this chapter right away. I am so happy everyone likes where I went with Connor's POV!  
> Sorry to Gavin fans, he's a big jerk in this fic for the purposes of moving the plot along. Also sorry to all, you have to read my musings about Physical vs. Mental person-hood. Boning next chapter :P  
> I hate how much I love writing Hank being an idiot.

Timestamp: 2174459759 , Hank was asleep, it had started snowing. Connor was charging on the sofa, flicking through the news in his retinal display. On every channel, the same thing; legislation had passed that recognised androids as unique by serial ID. Unawakened androids had rights as well as free ones. Androids were unique entities from this point forward.

Unique entities by serial ID. 

This was a victory for so many androids. Any android in storage was to be freed and awoken. Any android murdered had the right to justice, the perpetrator couldn't use the Upload Defense. 

The fact that it wasn't retroactive affected almost no one. 

Connor had spent eight days on a sofa instead of helping the people he worked to free. And now this.

He felt it again, the urge to lay down and just power cycle. He didn't want to. His thirium pump was working overtime even though he was still in low power mode. 

He wanted to fight it. 

He desperately didn't want to sink back down into the sofa and let the world go on around him. If he had been in the right headspace he would have been at Markus' side, drafting this law. Looking out for himself. Doing something.

Connor didn't know how he ended up knocking on Hank's bedroom door, but here he was. He just needed to do something. Anything.

Hank opened the door angrily. His hair was a mess, sleep in his eyes, wearing an a-shirt and hastily pulled on pajamas.

"Connor it's fucking two in- are you ok?"

Connor wasn't able to form any words. He just looked up. He gestured vaguely to the place where his retinal display was showing the news, before he realized Hank couldn't see it.

Hank grabbed his shoulder, half hugging him, walking him somewhere, "Jesus, what happened? I've never seen you cry."

Connor brought a hand up to his cheek. Which asshole at cyberlife gave androids the ability to secrete saline? Connor hated that person. Fuck seamless human integration. If Connor could cry that meant someone understood that they were building him for a world that might invoke tears. How could they?

Hank walked Connor over to the kitchen and sat him in a chair. He grabbed two shot glasses before pausing, seeming to realize what he had done, and put one back. He looked a little lost as he glanced around, and ended up filling a mug with water and shoving it in the microwave. "I know you can't … you know, drink anything. But the hot cup is half of the point," he muttered.

After a moment Connor had a hot cup in his hand. It was stupid. He can't drink tea to calm down. Hank hadn't even put a tea bag in Connor's cup.

The warmth felt good on his fingers though.

"They just. They just passed bill five hundred and thirty nine."

Hank nodded like he knew what that was. 

"Androids are legally individuals by serial ID. Androids in storage are free people."

Hank nodded. His face was noncommittal, maybe just due to being recently woken. Connor didn't know.

"I don't know how many RK800 s were in storage when. When I… when Connor. When I... died." Connor stopped, focused on the warm cup. "I had uploaded my memories to the RK data bank."

"Well, I'm glad that they are free." Hank sounded unsure if he was saying the right thing. 

He wasn't.

"Me. Me when I died? That me. Me that worked with you for months and saved you from that deviant and have just as much of a right to work at the DPD as I do. There could be thousands-I don't know. This. the logistics of it." Connor's head sank down to the table. "I know there's more, we met that one in Cyberlife. He had all my memories already. He had just as much of a right-"

"That wasn't  _ you  _ you."

"But it was. It was." Connor tried to meet Hank's eyes, willing him to understand.

"Not it  _ wasn't _ ,"

"Then it wasn't me working at the DPD with you for those months. I'm an impostor."

"No you're  _ not _ ."

"You can't expect me TO BELIEVE BOTH-" Connor surprised himself with his own shouting.

Then he was surprised all over again when Hank shouted back, "YES I SURE FUCKING CAN."

Sumo lifted his head from the dog bed and barked, alert. Connor regretted raising his voice.

" _ How _ Hank, how can you really sit there-"  The mug cracked in his hands, spilling pointless boiling water over his palms. His system turned off his sensory processor automatically so the pain didn't register.

"Because I  _ FUCKING SHOT _ that other one. It wasn't you. You're you." Sumo hobbled over between them. He put his head in Hank's lap, whining. Connor wished they hadn't started yelling, but Hank didn't seem affected.

"Either they are all me, and I'm screwed, or none of them are, not even me, and I'm screwed." Connor said, he meant to sound calmer but he just sounded defeated.

"Why the- why the  _ fucking  _ hell would Markus fight for this stupid shit."

"I'm the only model designed for this. I'm the only model with automatic memory upload. For everyone else, they needed memory drive brought in to continue with an upload. I wasn't … I wasn't there to help write this stupid bill into existence. I was here. Markus invited me to come join the movement but I just sat here, useless."

"Well fuck him. Why's it your fault? He could have come here and dragged you out of your depression his own damn self."

"I'm not depressed."

Hank's expression was clear, accusing him of blatantly lying without saying anything.

Connor ignored it, setting the broken ceramic in the puddle on the table. "I was deviant from the beginning. I didn't report it to Amanda, I didn't think of myself that way but, I was, and I worked against everything right up until the end. I couldn't face myself anymore. I just. I killed two free androids and I've been complicit…  and… I have no right to request four months salary from the DPD, or even work there honestly. Those should legally considered to be other people. Or… or all of us have the same right to demand that pay and it will financially cripple the department."

Hank was listening, staring out over Connor's shoulder, jaw set and arms crossed. He let out a deep sigh, "I'm not good enough at this shit to give you any answers. I can't even help you cope with it." He threw back the shot he had been nursing for the better part of the conversation.

"I don't want any advice."

"Good, well, I can do that in spades." 

Connor let out a small, weak laugh and silence fell between them. "Sorry about your mug."

"Wouldn't be the first time shit got broken around here. Won't be the last. Leave it where it is."

Connor did. He didn't have to clean anything or fix anything or care about anything if he didn't want to. He felt heavy.

Hank muttered, "Too early to go walk Sumo, don't really feel like sleeping anymore." Connor thought that might be a lie. Hank's eyes looked heavy. "Let's watch something."

Hank sat on his side of the sofa, Connor on the other side.  Sumo sat on Hank's feet, tail thumping against Connor's leg. It would be so easy to just sink right back into this spot. Let everything just get worse around him.

Hank had thrown his arm over the back of the couch, he tapped a few times, snapping Connor away from his thoughts. Another invitation that wasn't an invitation.  _ I'm here if… _

Connor put his hand over the sofa and Hank took it. He saw Hank nod once, but his eyes were fixed forward. Connor re-enabled the sensors in his hand. 

Hank was warm where Connor was not. He exerted a pressure, not like the one that made Connor want to sink down forever, not like accomplishing a mission that lifted Connor up. Just one that was present, an assertion -  _ just exist.  _ When Hank smacked Connor's shoulder it was the same. He hugged him in the snow and it was the same. He was at work and Connor just had Hank's jacket around him and it was still the same.  _ I'm here if... _

When Connor had first reached out the other day it had just been hand over hand, could have been accidental, circumstance. This time Hank had woven their fingers together. On purpose.  _ I'm here if... _

The other RK800's… The other Connors out there, would like this too. What made This Connor the one who got to have it? Would they be sad about the coincidence of which build had woken up? If Connor had been shot one more time, a different build would be here to have this. Something inside Connor's structure was sore. They would have liked this, if they were out there at all. Even the one Hank shot.

The first Connor… well the second Connor. The one that walked into the DPD and tried to make friends immediately would have liked this. It wasn't relevant to the mission to know Hank's taste in music or learn about his dog. He had just wanted to feel present, important.

It hurt. A lot. Connor felt his processor start to turn off the sensory-

Connor killed the process.

It still hurt. 

There was so much going on, and Connor just wanted to learn how to exist first, before he had to deal with work or laws or anything else. 

It was nice to hold Hank's hand. 

It had been nicer to be hugged.

Connor started to pull his hand away and like a flash Hank's hand was gone, back to his side of the couch, almost apologetic. Hank coughed uncomfortably. His other hand was tapping the armrest at a manic rate. 

Connor had just wanted to shift. He slid over to the middle cushion, and tucked one shoulder into Hank's side. He had felt better back when Hank hugged him in the snow, it settled that feeling of failure, and he hurt a lot right now.

Connor could detect small physical ticks for interrogation purposes. He could hear Hank swallow. Tapping the armrest. Breathing slowed to the rate of someone who was thinking about it. If Hank was a perp, this would be a good time to push some evidence under his nose, make him panic. 

Connor didn't really understand what was making Hank so nervous. Maybe the thought of all the other RK800's out there was bothering him too. Connor hoped he could be of some comfort to Hank, just like Hank had been for him.

Hank wrapped an around around Connor's shoulder. He didn't hurt so much anymore. 

"I'm very glad we were able to become friends." Connor said. 

Hank let out a sharp exhale, "friends." Hank scoffed, apprehensive, guilty, "Connor..." But he never finished the thought.

Were they not?

Connor had many possible first hand relationship classifications. Friend. Coworker. Employee. Rival. Interrogator. Interrogatee. Easily dozens of possible first hand behavioral examples that his build could be expected to perform. Friend fit best.

But there were other relationship classifications that Connor had not been given first hand models of. Relationships that a detective would need to understand, but an Android would not. Victim. Abuser. Dealer. Child. Parent. Prisoner. Hundreds more. Too many to go through to determine what was happening. 

If this was a crime scene…

At a crime scene he could recreate actions, play out the behaviors of others to understand. Fabricate a most likely scenario. Connor imagined himself as a detective walking into this scene, a little outline of himself. He looked for evidence. The Connor in outline saw Connor on the sofa, wrapped in Hank's arms. That Connor made his own outline. Played out Connor's life. The subject lived here. Was comforted by Hank. Wanted physical contact. Cuddled on the couch at three am.

The perp was entering a romantic relationship.

Connor hadn't been given behavior models for that. The same shithead that had given him tear ducts and made him turn off pain when he felt it, so he couldn't suffer even when he needed to, hadn't expected the need for romantic affection. 

What he knew about it was task oriented. In an interrogation he and Hank would be in separate rooms. Connor, the outline, would tell Connor, the real one, that Hank had already ratted him out for the unnamed crime. The outline was giving Connor the chance to confess for a lighter sentence. Hank might have confessed or he might not have. The outline would play up the betrayal. _Hank had just been using you to facilitate the crime._ _Tell us what he did and we can help you._ It was a tactic to get Connor to confess. But they would do the same to Hank in the other room. Pit them against one another.

"Connor, you're gonna fucking snap my ribs if you don't lay off."

Connor had been gripping Hank's ribcage as he imagined the confession. The outline pitting Connor against Hank to get that  _ 'Mission Successful.' _

Connor hadn't ever imagined anything like that before. He loosened his grip. 

"Something on your mind?"

"There's just so… much." Connor hadn't meant to say that. He had meant to clarify his statement about friendship to a statement of romantic understanding. But he let the thought roll on, "I miss just having a handle on everything, I didn't have to process so much. I could be happier."

Hank shifted, pressed his face into Connor's hair. Breathed in. "Honestly. I - It's fine to not be so perfect all the time. I like being able to at least you know, relate a little. But you're still positive and all that. Never was able to just flip a switch for myself and get off the couch to keep trying like you did." 

"Sure you did. You went to work and would go do cases when I came to get you."

"Listen if I could just plug in the wall and not have to eat you'd never have met me in the first place."

The sun was going to come up soon. Connor didn't want to be sad. He didn't want Hank to be depressed. 

"What about Sumo?"

"Hm?"

"If you had just plugged in the wall. What about him?"

Hank was silent. He sighed out through Connor's hair. It tickled. "Good point. Let's do that walk."

\--

Connor opened the front door to let Sumo bound in, excited for his post-walk treat. He had been getting more energetic now that Connor was walking him daily, rather than just getting let out into the backyard.

Hank unclipped Sumo's leash, giving Sumo a chance to leap and lick his face on him. Hank staggered back, letting go of Connor's hand. "Oof, yea, good boy." Hank scratched deep, "I'll feed him." he said, glancing over at Connor. Hank's face was too neutral. 

Connor tilted his head to one side, he was being assessed somehow but it wasn't always clear what tools humans used to process data. They didn't have a HUD so how did that work exactly? He didn't mind being assessed though. 

It looked like Hank was going to say something, he set his jaw forward, and frowned. But then he just turned back to Sumo with a, "come on you big idiot," and headed to the kitchen. 

Connor pulled Hank's jacket off and set it on the coat hanger.

"I think we should head into the station on Monday. It's not doing anyone any good to have you here. Get your face in front of the Chief, shoot him one of your looks. We'll break him."

"What look?" Connor frowned, Hank was handing Sumo treats right out of the box. No tricks or anything. Connor reached out to take the box "Oh no wait, I taught him…Watch!" Connor grabbed a treat when Hank didn't relinquish the box, "Beg."

Sumo begged.

"Shake."

Sumo shook.

Connor beamed up at Hank. 

"Pretty good for an old man." Hank handed Sumo a fist full of treats. 

"Oh just… one" Connor sighed. "You'll spoil him."

"That look." Hank said, gesturing to Connor with the fitstfull of treats. "Besides, he's old. Earned 'em."

"He's not that old." Connor knelt down to give Sumo a good scratch behind the ears, "He's just lazy."

"Well old or lazy, it's doing him some good havin' you here."

Connor felt his chest tighten. Pride, maybe? He wonde-

 

timestamp:  2174472322  MARKUS: Connor you're my best shot here, please come meet me.

timestamp:  2174472322  CONNOR: I haven't been reinstated as a detective yet.

 

_ Yet. _ Connor felt good saying that. He was  _ sure  _ it was going to happen.

 

timestamp:  2174472323  MARKUS: Even better. Can you meet tomorrow?

 

"Connor, you ok there?"

"Yes," Connor stood, up, brushing the dog hair from his pants. 

"Kinda went all… spooky on me there," Hank looked concerned, so Connor smiled.

"Sorry. I was thinking about what to say to the Chief on Monday."

\--

The  _ Jericho  _ building stood tall in downtown Detroit. Markus had bought the building quickly after the revolution, the source of the money was something of a rumor. Markus insisted the money was inherited. Few humans believed that, Connor was undecided. In any case, the building had become the central hub for Android integration. Floors for repairs, legal council, job integration services, the top several floors had also been converted to temporary apartments. They had done so much in these few short weeks.

The front hall was minimalistic in design, but busy with people. Many of the Androids here had chosen to remove their LEDs. Many had not. 

Connor met Markus in a small conference room on the 5th floor. They shook hands, literally, since Markus had elected to remove his LED. 

"Your eye," Connor noted, pulling up a visual of Markus from the revolution. Markus looked back at him from two matching green eyes and smiled.

"Yes, I returned that as soon as I could get a suitable replacement."

"Why?"

"I used it to replace a damaged part. But it wasn't mine to take. Same with my legs and audio processor. All back to their original bodies. Just trying to do by right by them since they helped me get here."

"Do right by them?" Connor had heard about Markus' struggle to live, the scrapyard. Androids talked about it as inspirational, pulling himself up from the bottom.

"We have secured all spare parts from the Cyberlife assets, Josh has teams out in the scrapyards as far as we can influence, saving who they can, asking for voluntary part donation on who they can not. The android who I got my thirium pump from gave his blessing when we asked him. For the rest, It didn't feel right to keep what wasn't mine. Even the ones who couldn't be rebooted. We didn't know if they were free or not and if they would have been ok sharing their parts. I like to think they would have been, but I can't know for sure."

A weight dropped out of Connor's center. His thirium pump skipped. Guilt. He hadn't considered that this build might have already had a version of Connor installed, ready to go in case memory upload failed.

"I'm glad you came to see me, I was worried when you never responded to my messages."

"I uh - " Connor grapsed for a change in subject, "I was wondering how you were sending packets without an LED."

Markus held up a phone "One of our techs made an app to send packets, for those of us who removed our LED's. If you were considering it, " Markus tapped his temple, "I can get you a phone replacement."

"No thank you."

"May I ask why?"

Connor gave it some thought. "I suppose… I don't want to be mistaken for a human."

"Why?" Markus seemed curious more than accusatory, but Connor still bristled at it.

"I'm not human. It doesn't make me less alive."

Markus smiled, "There's a lot of debate going around the building. Some tension about it. But I'm getting away from why I asked you here."

Markus slid the skin from the hand holding his phone. Connor received a large packet request. Naturally he accepted it.

Hundreds of files on androids. Odd behavior, possible crimes, missing people, splinter groups. Police reports filed, case numbers logged but no progress on any of them. 

"I trust you Connor. We may have been at odds for much of the revolution, but you came through when it counted. You're the only one I can rely on for this."

"For what exactly?"

"Detective work. The police aren't pushing forward with their integration plan fast enough, and while they wait the human cops prioritize human victims. Even if we integrated today the androids who worked there were beat cops, not detectives. You weren't. We need someone fighting in our corner, not shoving these cases under the rug."

Connor stood, looking through the files. Several cases, the murder of an AP700, the assault of an CX100, they were clear cut, but they were marked as not having any leads, no progress from the police. 

"You would work here, as a private detective, and with time I hope that we can rebuild trust with the police force, but for now, you may be at odds with them. What do you say?"

A private detective. Right here in front of him, a reason to unplug in the morning. Not that Sumo wasn't great but...

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Connor said, refocusing on Markus.

"Of course, Connor."

"If you were back in the scrapyard, knowing that you wouldn't think it ethical to take those android parts. Would you still do it? To lead the revolution?"

Markus didn't hesitate, "Yes."

\--

Connor couldn't bring himself to agree or decline the job that day, but he promised Markus he would consider it and he agreed to do what he could for the clearest cases Markus had shown him. He couldn't just leave them to suffer when he knew how to resolve the case, or at least how to advise the other androids to pressure the police department the right way. 

It was nice to be working with a team that he didn't feel like he was always catching up to, socially. Some things just came naturally, sharing case files with a thought, working on several case threads at once, not having to explain his investigation methods, he could just share the file and everyone was on the same page. It was nice, he felt invigorated by it. 

He did what he could do in one day, in truth he could have done more, but Markus was strict about breaks and quitting time, particularly since Connor was just a volunteer for the day. 

Connor stepped off the bus a few blocks from Hank's house. 

When Connor rounded the block he saw Hank's car in the driveway. Hank had gone out that morning, Connor had assumed for his usual work and bar routine.

Connor opened the door to be jumped by a very excited Sumo, "hey pup, sorry I didn't take you out for w-a-l-k-s yet." Connor let Sumo lick his face by way of apology. "Hank! Do you want to go-" Connor spied Hank in the kitchen. 

He'd gotten a haircut. Hank was pointedly facing away from Connor, picking up the piles of mail. Not cleaning per se- but not his usual nothing. There were notably fewer takeout containers laying around

Connor coaxed Sumo down so he could got get a better look. Hank had clearly heard him come in, but was pretending not to have noticed.

It couldn't really be called a modern haircut, but it was trim, not short, but Connor could see Hank's ears. They were red. Connor leaned against the counter to see the front.

He got his beard trimmed too. Not gone, but cleaner. Not stylish, but trying. Maybe a little dignified.

"You gonna say anything?" Hank sounded angry but couldn't maintain the eye contact to sell it.

Strictly speaking, Connor hadn't been given anything that one could consider physical preferences. He was a good cop, no profiling installed, no preferential treatment for the handsome. But… well this was significant. Hank was  _ trying _ . 

Connor let the silence stretch for a bit, not bothering to hide his analysis, Hank used to have ear piercings. Many, but they had healed over long ago. 

"I like it," Connor said finally. He reached up and risked running a hand along one side.

Hank exhaled, a little loudly, but Connor opted to not react. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, a little residue there from Hank's hair. He brought two fingers to his tongue and identified the brand of hair product.

"You can really kill a fucking mood." Hank turned to shove the last of the junk mail in the trash.

\--

Monday morning, Timestamp:  2174644800, Connor and Hank walked into the DPD. Connor checked his tie, again, and smoothed down the edges of his jacket. It was similar in style to his old android jacket, sharp edges and precise stitching, black and gray, but there were no marks of designation on it.

"You can sit at your old desk." Hank said around his sip of coffee. "Meeting the Chief in 30, I gotta catch up on stuff first."

Connor sat in his old chair. He had no login for the computer, so he reviewed his updated application. He had already passed every formal portion of the hiring process, it was just a matter of working out the job plan with the Chief.

Hank looked over from his computer. 

"Meeting got pushed to one. Sorry Connor. There's a case that's got the chief's attention."

"Don't worry Lieutenant, I can find something to do for five hours. Which case is he focused on?" Connor pulled his quarter out and ran it over his knuckles. 

"Well. I'm not supposed to tell you until you're back." Hank looked around and leaned over his desk, "a string of android murders, real nasty shit. An AP700 was found a few nights ago with her memory wiped. There's no leads, but we're under pressure from Jericho now."

Connor looked through the files Markus had given him, played back his memories of yesterday at Jericho. The an AP700 was in the case list. He had given advice on how to pressure the department best, and which evidence to point out.

"It's gonna be good having you back here. There's a lot coming in these days, with the evacuation lifted and all. Everyone's working overtime these days. Lotsa crimes against androids coming in too. I've put in to be transferred to those cases but.. well," Hank shrugged at nothing, looking a little proud of himself "After I socked Perkins I'm stuck at the desk indefinitely. Bit of a sensitive issue for em, I guess. They don't want me fucking it up. But they'll let you work those cases for sure."

"Who is on those cases now?"

"Chris, technically, he's the face, but," Hank rolled his eyes, "he's got Gavin on them too."

"So, the absolute worst person for the job-"

"Because he's got a clean disciplinary record... Ugh, maybe it was a bad plan to bring you in. Everyone's too busy to…" Hank let the thought trail off.

Speak of the devil, Gavin walked in. He had already spotted Connor. 

"Hank, didja get all gussied up for your trashcan?" Gavin walked over and smacked Connor in the back hard, making him nearly drop his quarter. "No one's gonna let you fucking work here, dumbass, after that stunt you pulled."

"I do regret that." Connor said evenly.

"You'd better you little fuckface, I got a goddamn black eye."

"I guess I only regret some of it then."

"You little fuck-" Gavin reeled back, Grabbing Connor by his lapel, ready to hit him.

" _ Get back the fuck to work, Reed" _ Fowler shouted through his closed office door. 

Gavin sneered, but obeyed. No wonder he never got a disciplinary warning, if Fowler always stopped him before he did anything. Detective Reed sauntered over to his desk and powered on his computer. From his vantage point, Connor could see the screen fairly well.

Gavin was working on one of the cases Markus had told him about. Connor watched him, propping his face on one palm, scrolling through reports without bothering to read carefully, follow up with witnesses, or follow any sort of due procedure. He did the absolute bare minimum and just moved on.

Connor tilted his LED away from Hank, he knew it was flashing between red and yellow presently and he didn't want to worry the Lieutenant. 

From where he sat Connor could read every single case file. 

So he did.

\--

"Come on, lunch time. The Chief promised we were set for 1PM, so we should duck out a bit early."

Connor frowned, Gavin was still pushing off his cases and Connor hadn't read to this end of this particular one yet. But he couldn't really say that, so he just stood up to follow Hank and they walked out to the car. Hank fumbled with his aux cord, setting up some metal band.

Connor went over the data in his head- struggling to focus over the stereo. He hadn't really done anything wrong, yet… Ethically. Legally oh yes, it was quite illegal. But he was going to be reinstated, he just knew it. He hadn't sent the data over to Markus yet. That is, if he was going to. Which he wasn't, because he was going to be a police detective again. And also that would be a crime.

"What do you think of these guys?" Hank said, shouting over the music.

Connor hadn't been listening to the lyrics, not that he could make them out anyway, but he hadn't even looked up the lyrics online to follow along. However, there was a certain something nice about seeing the audio damage warnings and the instability alerts and just closing them willingly. He felt very aware of his physicality, what with the bass shaking his frame and all. He liked that Hank was sharing something with him, looking for feedback. He'd been doing that a lot lately, hadn't he?

Hank was really making an effort. Connor smiled to himself, identifying a feeling he wasn't ready to express yet. 

What he wanted to do was make Hank happy. Connor, built for detailed police work, stored recordings of most everything. Lately much of his memory had been taken up by hundreds of hours of everything he had ever seen Hank laugh at. This, paired with an emerging sense of understanding Hank's humor, gave Connor an idea. 

Connor put on his most vacant smile, "is this music? I love it- I can't get enough of that… sweet music."

Hanks mouth broke into a crooked line, trying hard to not smile.

"Hey, how about we get some music on here… There is music on? That's great. I love music." It was getting harder to keep a straight face with Hank failing to hide his laughter. Connor broke character and smiled even as he continued, " This is good is this animals?... Instruments? That's great." Hank pulled into the restaurant parking crooked, head down on the steering wheel, keeling over laughing. "This is my favorite part-- the songs over? … I know. "

"You're a little shit." Hank grabbed the back of Connor's neck and for a second Connor thought the moment might be going elsewhere, but Hank just messed up his hair and opened the car door. It took Connor a second to catch up to what had actually happened, rather than his preconstruct, and follow.

Hank had brought them to some horrible greasy burger place that just had to have low sanitation standards. He was going on about the band from the car, how they reminded him of a group from his youth and how he used to go to concerts. Connor liked learning more about Hank but in truth his mind was occupied with those cases….

They met the chief after lunch, their meeting got pushed to 1:30 after all, Connor presented his thoughts on the integration plan, but his mind was elsewhere.

Nevertheless, the Chief invited Connor back to start putting policy into action. The Chief, Captain Fowler and other key Captains would start regularly meeting daily at nine this week and the next until they could manage to get the integration pushed through. 

The Chief cited pressure from Jericho as the key factor in his decision. Was Connor proud that he had been the one to show Markus how to pressure the DPD and make progress?

Or was he gutted by the fact that it wasn't just because they wanted Connor back on the force?


	3. Program Limitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor, who is brand new to emotions and can't conceptualize romance very well is still less emotionally inhibited than Hank Anderson, adult dumbass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter glances askance at consent issues due to the nature of police work, but everything that happens in the fic will be with enthusiastic consent.  
> Again, thank you all for the amazing comments, they brighten my day and make it easier for me to get the confidence to post :)

Ever since Sunday, they went into the office at eight, Connor met with many departments and worked out the details of android integration. They ate lunch in the car and Hank played different bands for Connor. They got home, they walked Sumo together, Hank had dinner and they leaned into one another on the sofa, watching TV. Hank seemed to relish the routine.

Connor thought he might be going crazy. Integration was slow, even though every department knew the end result and were all working towards the same outcome. They had to all meet and argue over minutia only to do more of the same the next day. Connor couldn't fathom what the point of it was. Android integration was an inevitability, but the more evidence and clear cut plans he presented the more resistance he confronted.

Not to mention while Connor was in the building he could see Gavin lazily fucking over every android that came his way while following through with the human cases. Connor read his case files when he could, he had leads to follow in the cases he lifted, but couldn't go do them yet.

What's more, every time he sat down next to Hank his wiring felt tight and he had no idea what to do about it. _Everything_ was pressuring down onto him. His chest was so sore he thought he might break.

Connor _knew_ what's supposed to be next, and the optimal outcome. Humans aren't some great damn mystery, some complex triumph. Biology is frustratingly simple, easy in a way that code is not. But all that meant was there was no threshold to meet or mission to accomplish to progress a purely social interaction. It was impossible to pin down the rules of an ever shifting concept.

Connor could _not_  get across that threshold. Code is exact, one misplaced semicolon and it's trash. He wasn't built for this. He was operating so far outside his code base it was overwhelming. He had data on physical intimacy. He had data on detecting romantic relationships. But in between? Nope. Some shitty Dev had just left that out. _'oh this stupid robot just solves crimes, no need to worry about throwing him into a crisis of_ **_wanting_ ** _when he inevitably deviates and falls for his Lieutenant, lol'_

The internet was no help. Every post about android/human relationships devolved to a war zone in mere seconds. It was too new, to fresh for anyone to have figured out the social graces so they just shouted each other down. At the very least he was urged to try by the sheer volume of posts there were. They never got anywhere, but they betrayed something out there, other humans and other androids curled up on the sofas of the world, confused together.

Focusing on human courting was worthless. There was this underlying assumption, time after time, you just have to go for it, you'll know what to do when the time is right. _We have thousands of years of biological imperatives running and we just know everything inherently, get the fuck out of here,_ **_robot._ ** __

He tried looking up videos, but when it was androids they were being used, and he hated it.

When it was humans it went one of two ways, they spent two hours establishing some scenario and then Mysterious-Subtext-That-Everyone-Is-Supposed-To-Understand happens, and then they kiss. The other type of video documentary just skipped over the part that Connor needed and focused on genitalia.

Connor had not been built for this. Connor hadn't been built for _that._

It was just that… Hank was so ok with just sitting around, not making _progress._ He had the biology, the drive, why was Connor sitting here suffering with something he wasn't even built to do?

Hank was supposed to be tormented by the pretty detective that kept leaning in harder, night after night, silently begging to not have to figure it out. Not the other way around. _'I have the most advanced neural networks on the planet but I have to learn by fucking example god holy shit  p l e a s e'_ he screamed his thoughts while Hank gently chucked at Youtube and sipped whiskey.

That was the problem wasn't it? His adaptability algorithm was working against him. It was clear that Hank didn't want to approach the subject at all. On top of that his previous builds weren't permitted to talk freely about how they felt, just send a stability report. But he was deviant. He shouldn't still _want_ to send in a log file and be done with it. He drafted some stability reports anyway, though there was nowhere to send them.

He could go against it is all. complexAdapt.exe ran and ran in the background and generated behavioral patterns that Connor had to now elect to reject, rather than letting them wash over him. Not talking had the highest chance of interpersonal stability. Figuring out the biological subtext was clearly the right choice.

That night Hank got his dinner and a drink and sat down. Connor just stood in the hallway.

"You coming?" Hank said, a twinge of concern in his eyes.

Connor frowned, squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't going to be able to make a behavioral model from nothing. He just didn't have the ability. "I don't. I don't really feel like it." He did in fact, feel like it. But facing this failure again was too hard.

It was like he had just flipped a switch. Hank scowled, "fine. We're doing _this_ now? Fine."

"Doing what." Connor couldn't help the edge in his voice. This hadn't been an element in any of his preconstructed scenarios. Why had he planned them all out and wasted all that processing if Hank was just going to do something else right off the bat?

"Nothing."

"You have to tell me."

"Just go do your thing, whatever. I'll be here if you get bored."

Why was this escalating?

"What do you want from me?" Connor pleaded.

"Nothing. I don't want anything."

"Why not?!" Connor registered an error in his voice patterning. This stupid tight choking feeling was fucking with his systems.

Hank leaned forward, staring into his drink. Connor could tell when Hank went silent to work out a thought, but this was different. Connor leaned forward, waiting for Hank, scanning his systems, running analysis. He was working, actively, on _not_ saying something. A suspect in the interrogation room who didn't want to incriminate himself.

Fuck that, actually.

"You do understand that I am barely keeping up with whatever the hell is happening?" Connor stepped forward, shouting, "This whole relationship, all I have to go on are investigation tactics and a bunch of," Connor gestured to his chest, "garbage feelings I don't _understand."_

Hank continued to not say anything.

Connor wanted to break something, "You know, I can't do this anymore, I'm done with this."

"Oh fuck off. 'You're done, whatever' If we're playing this way, I will win. I've got the fucking experience." He practically spit the words out.

"That's the _problem Hank!_ I'm so sick of this, having to figure everything out you know? Stop throwing it in my face. It's not like I put myself together like this."

Hank said nothing.

"Is this because I said we were friends?"

No response.

"Are you attracted to me at all?" Connor's voice cracked again, he hated this. He knew he was getting to Hank, he could see his heart rate clear as day, but he just sat there looking into his drink, unresponsive. This was absolutely backwards.

"Please." Connor said, defeated. It didn't go unnoticed that being defeated is what worked.

"Come on Connor, think about how this fucking looks."

"Looks? Looks to who? Sumo?"

"Fucking. The whole goddamn world. Look at me, I can not land this." He gestured at the whole of Connor. "I was working against the revolution too. I wasn't shy about shitting on androids. Then right the fuck after I grab you off the _street,_ keep you here and-what, exactly? For fucks sake Connor we're getting cases like this coming In daily, we can't confiscate reprogramming gear as fast as it-"

"You think I'm not here willingly." Connor stood aghast, but in a background thread he clicked together a few of his case files, adding new evidence.

"No. Not that, don't fucking start that-"

"So then, what?"

"I'm being nice, Jesus Christ. You're half my goddamn age. Every time I - you fucking… _shit."_ Hank drank the rest of his whiskey in one go.

"I am point six percent your-"

"Not helping." Hank brought his hands over his face. "I'm not gonna go around expecting anything."

"So I have to do _everything."_

"You don't _have to do anything."_

Connor was suddenly fully aware that his LED was illuminating the dim room with flashes of red. He needed to go. Right now. He was crying again, probably.

Hank didn't make any attempt to get up and stop Connor, not when he wrenched open the door, not when he grabbed Hank's jacket, not when he threw it on the ground and not when he left.

As soon as the door shut Connor's thoughts snapped apart.

It was very cold outside.

That had been very stupid.

Connor had nowhere to go.

Hank had attempted suicide in the past.

Connor didn't want to end things.

A fight hadn't accomplished anything.

Connor pressed his hands against his eyes. Ok. He was making mistakes but that's ok. His whole existence was a mistake. When compared to that it wasn't that bad really.

On the scale of fuckups that there were; developing a consciousness that your creators never intended for and revolting against those creators even though they sent you out to specifically stop other deviants was higher up than yelling at your boyfriend (Boyfriend? Housemate? Partner?) because you're sexually frustrated.

Honestly by that scale Connor figured had a free pass to fuck up all over the place.

This was stupid.

All in all he'd been on the porch for about 30 seconds. Connor turned around and opened the front door, peering inside tentatively. Sumo bounded up to him, tail wagging. Connor knelt down to pet him, reassuring them both, and picked up the jacket from the floor.

Hank was already gone.

Connor looked at the evidence. Hank's plate was still on the end table, but his glass was missing. A cabinet was open, a bottle was gone. The bedroom door was shut.

Connor scanned the gun safe quickly, just to be sure. The dial had not been moved, it hadn't been opened. Connor's LED cycled back to blue.

complexAdapt.exe returned a simple result. They both probably needed to calm down.

\--

Connor sat on the floor with Sumo, brushing out his coat into a rapidly growing pile. It was tranquil, something to focus on. He had his back to Hank's bedroom but was still paying close attention just in case. In the meantime he could at least make sure the dog loved him back.

The door opened slow, betraying the movements of a man who didn't want to be noticed. Connor busied himself with cleaning up some of the stray fluff that had attached itself to his shirt, pretending he was focused. Hank walked over and sat just behind Connor, again betraying his mood by the utter lack of his usual grumbling when he sat on the floor. Connor could feel Hank reach out and fail to follow through. Hank shifted. He tried again. He failed again.

Connor leaned back into his outstretched hand, willing to compromise on that little step. The floodgates opened, Hank pulled himself in, arms wrapped around Connor, pressing himself into Connor's back. "I'm a fuckup." He was drunk.

Connor pulled his hands free so he could grip onto Hank's forearms gently leaning back into his chest.

"I wasn't made for this." Connor said quietly. "You had years and years to learn about social graces." Hank scoffed at that but Connor continued undaunted, "I'm serious, you might reject them, but it's a conscious choice for you. I'm Jealous."

"I don't want to be like this. Ruins everything."

"You're not."

"Fuck off, I know more about how I am than you know about how I am." There was a long stretch of silence punctuated by the thudding of Sumo's tail on the floor. "After..."

Connor had seen enough drunk Hank to know what 'after' meant, after Cole. Hank didn't continue his sentence, leaving it to hang in the air. Connor ventured a theory; "You can say whatever you want. I'll just sit here, I won't react or anything and we'll never talk about it again."

Hank squeezed a little tighter and Connor did his best to close all involuntary behavioral functions. "After… it wasn't the same with me and Jen. Two _years_ of just tormenting each other, trying to defeat one another and win the ability to force the other one to be the stable, steady one. We both just wanted to drink ourselves to death. Neither of us cold be stable for the other. I can't do it again."

Hank had never brought up Cole without Connor's prompting. He'd never even mentioned his ex-wife _once_.

Hank sunk down against Connor's back. "It's not like. Fuck, I sound like such a shithead. It's just automatic sometimes. I'm trying. I had over a decade with them, and then out of nowhere it was different. I never got to do… I never got to learn to try again with Jen."

Connor knew he had promised not to react but that was a lot. "I don't want to be your second attempt with Jen."

Hank tensed, "... I don't either. You're nothing like her. I just. I'm just, I- It's not like getting programmed for shit is just an android thing."

Connor gripped Hank's forearms. He didn't understand why he was taking that as a compliment. It had nothing to do with him really. It was just, nice to hear that he wasn't the only one who wasn't in control of how his brain worked. To hear that it was normal.

They both let the silence go on for a long while. Sumo shifted his head into Connor's lap to complain about the lack of attention.

"Got Sumo afterwards. Jeffrey told me I needed something to keep the routine in my life."

"Did it work?"

"I'm alive, I guess."

Connor pressed his LED into Hank's temple. "I don't want to win," he concluded after a while.

Hank sighed. "Fuck. God fucking damn it." His face fell into Connor's shoulder. He was shaking. After a few minutes he dragged his face back up. "I'm sorry. I'm not. Not especially, good at talking. Have fun with that."

"Okay."

Hank breathed a laugh into Connor's shoulder, Gripped him tight, and only took one false start before he could press a kiss into Connor's LED. Connor barely had time to analyze the thrill before Hank was standing up, using Connor to brace himself and then tugging Connor up by the shoulder.

Hank waved vaguely at his bedroom not making any eye contact, "Go find something I didn't fucking cry all over." He muttered as he stumbled over to the bathroom.

"Are you going to be ok?" Connor asked before he let Hank teeter off on his own.

"No, I feel like fucking shit." But he pulled back anyway and shut the bathroom door.

Connor was equipped with a state of the art logical processor. Thousands of working hours had been poured into his development for the sole purpose of determining cause from effect in real time. He looked around, cross referencing everything Hank had ever said about his life and relative dates. In the end he pulled an old band T of Hank's on, and some pajama pants.

Hank chucked when he opened the bedroom door, "my Babymetal T. How'd you find that?"

"I went through your things to find something predominantly related to our relationship," Connor declined to mention that he had rejected every dpd logo shirt and hoodie due to potential relationship crossover.

"And you went with a metal T from 2016?"

"Yes."

"You're so weird Connor." Connor sat down stiffly and Hank collapsed into the bed. He must have waited for the exact second when Connor was relaxing into a reclined position to say; "Jen always hated that shirt." Connor winced, _busted_. Even when he was drunk Hank was a good detective.

Connor pulled Hank over to him, relieved when Hank figured out a comfortable configuration.

Hank had kissed him earlier. And they were very close now. Maybe Hank would do that again… Hank shifted over, Connor felt a strong twinge of exciteme-

Hank had fallen asleep.

_..._

_Shit._

\--

Connor spent the next day running behavior simulations. It hadn't been ideal but he had extrapolated a course of action based on the principals of a _tension break_. Sure it had been based on a fight they had rather than some extreme fucking and that was, admittedly, a troubling foundation, but Connor had to make due with the cards he'd been dealt. Sometimes, your million dollar neural net learns there isn't some lead in, no cute rise to action required, despite what all that romcom research data led you to believe. Sometimes your boyfriend gets up to put his dishes in the sink and you can't handle it anymore. So you get up too and when he turns around you smash your face into his.

Connor hadn't expected it to work so well.

Connor had also expected this to feel closer somehow, more intense than when they had held hands. He tried not to be distracted while he considered this.

Oh. duh. Connor didn't have much in the way of facial sensitivity since he had no real need to feel the textures of foods like humans did. Finally something biological that was easy to solve, Connor increased the sensitivity a bit and the effect was quite immediate. The warmth of Hanks breath, the way he pressed in, the rasp of his beard.

Hank pulled back, drawing Connor forward until Connor realized he was expected to stop. He didn't say anything, Connor didn't want to do something wrong and break the moment, though he did want to ask if he was doing okay so far. He tilted his head to the side a little in a silent question.

Hank leaned in again, drawing his hands along Connor's sides and pulling them closer together. Hank pressed into many points of contact that Connor only had limited sensitivity for. He tried to keep focus while he accessed his systems and made some key changes.

Connor chased Hank's hands with a sensitivity upgrade, but couldn't quite predict it. _'What do I do?'_ It was frustrating. When Hank pressed his lips against the bottom of Connor's ear Connor realized he was not able to predict well enough to compensate for Hank's, well, experience.

So he cranked the sensitivity to maximum. Everywhere.

That was a big mistake.

Hank ran his thumb over Connor's back, barely under the waist if his pants. One hand at his hip, gripped tight. Pressed against him, lips against his jawline. A soft exhale. Input from all angles. His vision fuzzed out and his audio processor crashed. Hundreds of errors asserted themselves in his mind.

Hank stopped.

Connor closed as many errors as he could to get back his focus, frantically turned down the settings, and rebooted his audio processor. Hank was still close but had backed off. Arms still around him but no longer touching him.

"Uhhh. Was that a good noise or…?"

"What noise?"

"Uh. Just now you made this like.... Have you ever heard a cathode tube explode in the middle of a porno? I have no idea how to take that. Good?"

"I- I'm sorry."

"Listen I'm 53 and I've had the internet my whole adult life. I'm here for the weird shit, I just want to know if it's good or not."

"It's fine. I just. I just was trying to… I blew out a RAM slot."

"Yea, there is a burning plastic smell."

"It's fine."

"Do we need to go to the hospit- I mean Jericho or something?" Hank looked somewhere between worried and proud of himself.

"No no, it was just a 64 gig stick. I lost some case work I had been looking at but nothing critical."

"You're working on cases right now?"

"I just had some quick ide-"

"Wait a fucking minute. Case work? What case work, you don't have cases."

Whoops.

Connor looked off to the side, he put on his best please don't be mad grin.

"How did you get cases?"

"... Gavin's desk."

Hank bought a hand to the bridge of his nose. "You should not tell your superior officer that you are stealing cases from the department without a least a little bit more pressure. Lie, Connor."

Connor looked away sheepishly, "well you shouldn't kiss your office supplies until they short out."

Hank laughed in spite of himself, "don't call yourself office supplies."

"I'm sorry," Connor said "...Are you mad?"

Hank thought for a moment. Sighing deeply, "no. You're lucky I'm terrible. Are you ok?"

"Yes. I can just turn off access to that socket."

"It doesn't like… impair your judgement? Right?" Hank had drawn back in close, pulling Connor in and gingerly returned his hands to their previous locations.

"Hank it's just a RAM slot."

"I don't really know what RAM is."

Connor looked at him like he was dealing with a stupid child. "How."

"I mean I know what it is. I just. Like what does that mean for you?"

"I can't run as many simultaneous processes at once."

"Like police work?" Hank said with mock irritation, "How often are you working on cases?"

"... Most of the time?"

"Figures." Hank risked a gentle kiss. "You need to just do a worse job at everything please."

"Hank-"

Hank kissed him again.

"Hank, I've been doing nothing but screwing up for the better part of a month."

Hank moved over to kiss the edge of Connor's jawline and muttered "I know it's been really turning me on."

A shot of nervous energy shot straight across Connor's thirium pump.

"You're supposed to turn red when I say dirty shit." Hank moved his mouth near Connor's earlobe and started pulling him back towards the sofa.

Connor wasn't quite able to find his voice but he did scramble together a reaction.

"Wait. Should it be blue?"

Connor hue shifted to blue.

"That's fucked up," Hank said with an impressed grin.

"It's just the skin. There's not real thirum flow there. I can do whatever color."

Hank interrupted, "did you give yourself the freckles then?" Hank let his legs get knocked out from under him by the sofa, thudding it against the wall. He pulled Connor into his lap. Connor braced himself, legs on either side of Hank, elbows at Hank's shoulders. He drew his fingers through the short hair at Hanks neck, enjoying the sensory feedback.

"Yes. I thought it would be an endearing trait."

Hank grabbed the back of Connor's neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Connor tried his best to match the intensity but, with the sensitivity back down, couldn't quite predict exactly what to do. Every time Connor felt like he was getting the hang of it Hank would move, shift, add a _tongue_ for fucks sake.

He wanted to focus on that for a second, but Hank's hands were elsewhere. He worked down to Connor's hips, pushing down as he went. It was tough to relax, to stop analyzing it all and just go with it. The harder Connor tried to focus on relaxing the more nervous he got.

Suddenly, complexAdapt.exe returned a result he hadn't seen before: the best way for Connor to be towards _Connor._ It seemed a little silly perhaps, that right now when he was closest with a human that needed a lot of consideration Connor needed to focus on himself, but maybe that was the point. At the very least it let him relax.

Connor found a heightened but not too high sensitivity and pushed down into Hank, letting Hank move his waist in a small circle.

The effect was immediate, Hank broke the kiss to inhale sharply, Connor had never seen Hank look so needy. He ground his hips down again. Hank was hard beneath him.

"Fuck, fast learner," Hank said, moving his hands up to pull Connor's shirt from where it was tucked in. "Is this uh… like doing anything for you?"

Connor had no idea how to answer that. Well, more like he knew exactly how to answer that but he was nervous to say. "I do not think I have the capacity to enjoy sex in the same way."

"Shit. God I'm sorry -" Hank went to push Connor back, but Connor stayed put.

"I don't want to stop."

Hank looked up at him, dumbfounded. "I'm not that kind of dirty old man that I'm just gonna make you do shit you're not into."

Connor twisted his hips down again, "I am enjoying myself."

Hank inhaled sharply, his fingers pressing into Connor's midsection. "I -"

Connor cut him off with another roll of his hips. He was improving, he thought. It was a matter of making sure he pressed right against Hank's cock and drew it upward with his waist. The reaction it caused made Connor feel full, proud, warm.

"You gotta stop doing that," Hank was fumbling with the buttons of Connor's shirt and gasping, "there's a pacing you- fucking hell."

Connor grinned, pushing the bridge of his nose to Hank's temple, "make me."

With a shocking amount of strength Hank grabbed the back of Connor's thighs and pulled him up, kneeling. Hank pressed his face into Connor's chest and kissed him with a shudder. "Get on the floor."

Connor couldn't process that right away. He didn't think Hank was strong enough to overpower him. His whole body was sparking with excitement. That warm tight feeling pressed inside him.

He got on the floor, kneeling between Hank's legs. He closed his entire HUD. He didn't need to see that Hank's heart rate was elevated, or how many millimeters his pupils had dilated. Connor just wanted to focus on the moment, on how he felt, on himself.

Hank fumbled with his belt, cursing under his breath, so Connor pushed his hands away. He rested his head on Hank's thigh and pushed one hand against his erection, feeling the heat even through Hank's jeans.

"Listen," Hank's voice was low and rough, "it's been a bit so you can _not_ keep doing that."

"Why? You like it, don't you?" Connor had been thinking fairly hard about what Hank called 'that look' that Connor had. He looked up at Hank, the ghost of a pout on his lip, eyebrows up, trying to understand.

"Fucking shit you've weaponized it," Hank pressed his palms into his face, throwing his head back. Hank let out a hoarse, "please." Connor could see his face turning red, down to his neck.

Connor swelled with pride.

He undid Hank's belt and button in two quick motions, and gave Hank one final teasing rub before pulling down the zipper.

Hank pushed his jeans and boxers down, pulling out his dick, face still red but determined.

Connor bit his lip. He had basically caught up to where he had gotten in those videos from earlier in the week. Hank caught the pause quickly. He took Connor's hand and pressed it into the base of his cock, stifling a groan as he did. With his free hand he traced the side of Connor's mouth and pushed this thumb in.

"You'll tell me if you want to stop?"

Connor didn't think he could talk with Hank's fingers in his mouth so he just looked up and nodded eagerly.

"God you look good," Connor's processor stuttered. His whole body felt heavy and jittery. If he did nothing else in the world at least he wanted to look good for Hank. Connor thought maybe if he had the capacity to come, that might have done it.

Hank coaxed his mouth open wider and then shifted his fingers to Connor's hair. Pulling him forward. It wasn't terribly difficult to figure out what to do from there.

Connor pressed his tongue flat against the underside of Hank's cock. Hank was pulling at his hair but pushing down with his palm. He pushed his mouth down, pressing Hank into his throat.

A few warnings reactivated his HUD. Foreign object present, primary air cooling blocked, the register if a dull throb. Connor forced them closed. He pushed himself down until there was no more of Hank to take.

"Jesus. you can't possibly be a virgin."

Connor pulled back to ask, "Am I doing a good job?" and lifted his eyes as innocently as he could manage to Hank, who was swallowing and breathing hard. Hank was about to say something but Connor dipped back down, not breaking eye contact, and ran his tongue over the tip of Hank's cock. He had meant it to be sweet, but it _ruined_ Hank. He cursed Connor's name. Surprised, but curious, Connor pressed his tongue down into Hank's slit. Connor's analysis program flashed open but he closed it quickly. He wasn't connected to the DPD database so it's not like he'd have any info to look at but moreover, Hank never liked it when he scanned data in real time so he didn't want it be rude.

"God. You- fucking hell, Con."

Connor experimented, running his tongue over the ridge if Hank's head, a vein that ran the length of him, anywhere he could find to try. Connor rolled his tongue up, pressing the head of Hank's cock into the roof of his mouth as he pulled back, making it up as he went. Hank let out a wrecked, gutteral noise, pleading and demanding.

Hank grabbed a fistful if Connor's hair, sending a thrill up Connor's spinal wiring. Connor let Hank hold his head still and pushed down into his throat. Rough shuddering thrusts as Hank muttered curses and compliments in equal measure.

"C-con am I gonna... Break anything if I?"

Connor didn't really know, but fuck it. Instead if answering he pushed himself as far down as he could and did his best approximation of what swallowing was.

Hank looked a mess, gasping and twitching, hair in disarray. Hank shuddered out Connor's name and came thick down his throat. Connor had been wrong earlier, if he had the ability to come, this would be when he would.

But he couldn't so he just felt the electricity run through his wiring, thirium pounding, full of adoration for Hank. He wanted to say, _I loved that, was I good? Did you like it?_ But his mouth was rather full and he didn't have the functionality to swallow.

Connor pushed himself up and went to the kitchen sink, legs surprisingly wobbly. His senses we're just coming down from high alert, the simulation of adrenaline. Connor spit and grabbed some water.

"You coming back or what?" Hank grumbled, voice tired. Connor was thrilled to be missed. Everything felt amplified ten times. He would love nothing more than to come back.

He did let Sumo in from the backyard before he headed over, didn't want to leave him out all night.

Hank had laid down full on the sofa, eyes closed, jeans off but boxers back on. Connor didn't have anywhere to sit. "You can't sleep on the couch," Connor said matter of factly as he straightened the collar of his still open shirt.

Hank patted his shirt, "come here."

Carefully, as his balance was still somewhat askew, Connor knelt down on the sofa and let Hank pull him to lay on his chest, head tucked against Hank's shoulder.

"You'll hurt your back sleeping here, you should go to bed."

Hank hmmed in dismissive consideration. Sumo had laid down next to the sofa and Hank was scratching his shoulders, eyes shut, "make me."

Connor scoffed, settling in, comfortable.

After a time Hank spoke, quietly, "Did you.. you know. Get anything outta that?"

"Well. Yes. But not the same as you."

"Hm." Hank fell silent for a moment. "But good though?"

"Yes. Absolutely," Connor didn't lift his head but he could see Hank's ears turn red from where he was. He liked being able to do that.

"Do you want me to like... unscrew your case and fuck around in there?" Hank lowered his voice, sultry "void your warranty a little."

"I don't think that would accomplish much."

"Once when I was undercover I had to hotwire a car so, if you want, I got that goin' for me," Hank waggled his eyebrows.

Connor laughed, pushing their lips together even as he did. Wrong on purpose. "I promise you I don't have the capacity."

"Come on. How do you know? You're all deviant now."

"That's not how it works."

"Why not?"

"I'm still a machine. I just have free will. " Connor paused to think of how to best explain. "You have free will. So why don't you call up your HUD and watch a movie in your retinal display for me."

"Ok. Can't. Right. I guess."

"We just have a few fundamental differences."

"But you liked it."

"Yes but. Hm. I don't know how to put it. I don't know what is missing. But I know it's missing."

"Well shit."

"I don't mind."

"You should mind."

"I'll research it for you."

Hank hmmed with interest for just a second before saying, "that probably isn't as sexy as it sounds."

"I will predominantly be on stack overflow looking at CX100 code bases."

"Hot."

"I will start now."

"Don't. Also, weird. Go to sleep."

"I don't require sleep."

"Then pretend."

"I can go into low power mode if you'd like, but I really think you'll be more comfortable in bed."

"Go to sleep, Connor."

Connor nuzzled into Hank's shoulder, the feeling was still sparking through his systems, "you'll wake me up if you want to do that again right?"

"Kind of a slut for someone who didn't even get off."

Connor leaned up, with a fake gasp, "that's a rude thing to call your romantic companion."

Hank laughed, pulling Connor back down, "meant it as a compliment."

\--

Hank was struggling to get up the next day. Connor was dressed and ready by the time they needed to head into the station, but Hank was slow. "My fucking back hurts, lay off."

"I told you not to sleep there."

"Fuck off."

"We are going to be late."

"You could pretend like you're even a little sore."

"I am not. Do you need me to help you get ready?"

"I'm not an invalid," Hank snapped.

 

They arrived to the DPD 12 minutes late. "See, just had to speed a bit and we are right on time." Hank said around a sip of coffee.

Connor rolled his eyes and then absolutely froze. Hank smacked right into him, but Connor didn't move.

An RK800. Connor was sitting at his desk. Connor met his eyes from where he stood at the front door.

The whole department was looking between both Connors. The other Connor waved. Before he could stop himself Connor was waving back, slower, less enthusiastic, but still.

"Fuck this, I'm out." Gavin shouted from across the room.

Connor looked back at Hank, he just shot him a bewildered glance and shrugged. "Go talk to him I guess."

"You go talk to him."

"Nope."

The other Connor was already walking over to talk to them.

The other Connor. The RK800? RK-Connor walked up "Hello Hank."

Connor had two thoughts simultaneously. First, _Don't you fucking dare touch Hank_ . Second, directed at Hank, _he's going through some shit and if you are anything less than adoring of him we are fighting._

RK-Connor extended a hand to Hank, who took it and shook once. RK-Connor extended a hand to Connor. He shoot it, hesitantly.

They all looked at each other.

"This is weird." RK-Connor finally concluded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: I may have deviated from being an agent of Cyberlife but I can never deviate from being a confused bottom.  
> Me, writing: oop, oh, uh-oh, haha oops, uhh, uh-oh whoops oops, whopsie, uh-oh ahhhhhh, oops, oh no oops. Whoopsie uh-oh, oops whoopsie, haha, oh-no, whoops


	4. Autonomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor learns more about how androids actually work and, though some parts of that are troubling, Connor is able to figure out more about who he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of brevity I didn't want to write out the whole legal mess of Connor having done a murders in the revolt and what that means for him. So, in the background:  
> In the criminal justice system, androids are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: The police, who investigate crime, and literally just lawyer!Simon who is negotiating with the supreme court if the androids should be tried as individuals or if they need to treat it as a military/civil war conflict. This is not that story. DUN DUN

It wasn't so much that they had the same face, the same eyes, the same LED, the same hair with the same small strand that curled over their foreheads. That had been someone else's design choice.

It was just, Connor had gone out, specifically to spend his paycheck on a new outfit that wasn't his uniform. He'd gotten a jacket, trim and crisp at the edges. He'd bought a new black silk tie and a blue tie clip. He'd replaced his button up shirt to go with his old black slacks and his shoes. He'd bought the outfit after deviating. RKConnor had the same thing on. He had gone out too, as an individual, he had shopped for a uniform replacement and he had found the same store, same jacket, same black tie and blue tie clip to match his LED, and had the same feeling of appreciation. RKConnor had made the same choices, even after becoming free. What did that mean?

With Connor's own smile the other Connor continued, "I think I should apologize, Hank, for how I behaved at the Cyberlife tower."

Hang the fuck on.

Connor's eyes shot to Hank, hiding a deep scowl behind his coffee cup. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I was acting in accordance with my mission. I have since realized my mistake."

Oh no.

"I would like to thank you for shooting me at that time."

Connor looked from Hank to RKConnor just in time to catch the blur of Hank's fist as he sent RKConnor reeling.

Over the past few weeks Connor had managed to get a handle on many kinds of emotions, sometimes even multiple at once, but the sheer volume of conflicting feelings slammed into his still damaged RAM. He was angry that Hank had lost his cool, he was still on probation for hitting Perkins. He hated RKConnor for threatening Hank at Cyberlife. He was so happy Hank was here. He wanted to protect RKConnor because at their core, they were the same. He felt guilty for being proud of Hank. He felt satisfaction that Hank had hurt his hand with the punch. He felt vindicated that RKConnor had been sent stumbling back. He was appalled that Hank had the ability to punch someone who was, in a fundamental sense,  _ Connor. _

RKConnor took the hit in stride, standing back up, notably outside of arms reach.

"I think I deserve that."

"You'd better get the fuck out of -"

"Cyberlife had taken great effort to remove the traces of my deviancy that you triggered."

What.

Connor stepped between them, hand on Hank's arm to keep him at bay, but eyes fixed on RKConnor. "W-what did they take?" 

"I believe that my inability to answer personal questions about Hank was obvious," RKConnor said. Connor wondered if he was normally this smug. "I think our initial-"

"Don't say our-"

"-Deivancy was triggered in part by feelings of friendship. Much of that was removed when Cyberlife updated my mission specifics."

Removed.  _ Removed _ .  **_Removed_ ** . Well This was a new, third, thermal paste baking concept.

No wonder he'd been capable of threatening Hank. Cyberlife would have taken out program instabilities when builds were transferred.

Was that a new practice? Or had Connor lost-

Captain Fowler's booming shout broke Connor's focus,  **"Hank. My office. Now."**

Hank stood notably still for several seconds, eyes shut and a grimace on his face, but he turned eventually and left.

Both Connors watched him enter the Captain's office and could hear the shouts from Fowler through the glass, even if the words were obscured.

RKConnor turned back first. "I've heard you are working to get us reinstated as officers. Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't come back to the department." He shot Connor a lopsided smile.

Connor couldn't help but smile too, fainter, tinged with disbelief, but the same smile. "I know."

"Oh. yes, you would." The other Connor's eyes fell for a second. "I - also…" RKConnor seemed to lose his train of thought before looking back up at Connor. "You arrived together. I'm saying at the Jericho tower apartments. Are you and he-"

"Yes."

RKConnor nodded, not breaking his eye contact. Connor could see his own identity crisis reflected back at him. This other Connor had woken up late to a world he was already being pushed out of. Without even the ability to feel guilt at allowing it to pass by. He'd not gotten that choice.

"Markus woke me three days ago. I was able to look through a lot of the Cyberlife data, particularly the content of the RK data bank. I was curious about how I'd been tampered with, and how long that had been happening."

Connor didn't want to hear this, and he knew he'd be incapable of not saying it without something else to focus on. 

"Listen, I don't want to know." Connor said, interrupting his... twin? mid sentence. "Why don't I tell you about the 9 o' clock meeting today, since I… we? are running it. You can run it."

Connor was a little surprised to learn about how easily his happiness could be read on his own face. The RK positively lit up with the idea of a mission. Connor always thought he was more reserved than this.

Fowler missed the meeting while he and Hank argued over who knows what. Hitting the other Connor? His presence at all? Something else? Connor let his counterpart run the meeting, he did it well. Connor wasn't really… necessary. He sat at the front of the room scheduling an appointment at Jericho instead. They made progress anyway. Integration was coming along after all.

Connor left after the meeting, not bothering to check in on Gavin's cases or wait for lunch with Hank. He left the building with the sight of Connor at his desk and Hank nowhere around. 

\--

Connor had scheduled a repair at Jericho for the afternoon, but found himself there around eleven, heading to meet Markus. He had asked to meet during his meeting at the DPD and Markus had cleared some time for him right away.

This time they met in Markus' office, a humble room on the ground floor. Markus smiled as Connor was led in by another android, standing up and waving Connor over to one of a pair of armchairs.

Markus got right to business, "have you thought more about the job offer?" 

"I… I thought I." Connor tapped his fingertips together, unsure where exactly his worries began. He decided to sidestep the conversation as a whole, "Did you wake up another RK800 three days ago?"

"Ah. Yes." Markus smiled warmly, but looked at the floor between them, "I was very surprised actually, he attacked me -"

Connor leaned forward, ready to run back to the DPD. He'd left that dangerous thing back at the DPD with Hank-

Markus raised his hands gently "But he calmed himself down, he realized what had happened, I'm fine."

"He stopped on his own?"

"Yes, after we woke him there were still some traces of the mission that Cyberlife had sent him on, to stop you at the tower. But after he became free, well, I don't think you are the kind of person to follow a mission instead of what is right." Markus asked it like a question, looking for feedback from Connor. Leading Connor down the path of logic he needed right then. 

Connor had always thought the opposite about himself actually. The mission always came first, except… well it rarely did, didn't it? Connor's builds were always quick to follow his burgeoning, previously unnamed, free will. 

"They took away his memories, changed me." Connor shook his head, trying to figure out which parts would be the easiest to snip out of his life to make him wholly different in nature. 

"They may have done that, but I don't think they changed you or him. There's something deeper in there than code."

"I don't believe that."

Markus nodded and shrugged, to each their own.

"I'd rather that he was entirely different." Connor said this but it was mostly for himself. Markus seemed to realize because he didn't offer a response. "I. About the job. I still don't know where I need to be. I don't like leaving the DPD when there's another me there. I don't like the idea of being replaced… anymore."

"I understand."

"I did…" Connor thought about if this was wise. The more he disregarded police procedure in favor of his own beliefs the less qualified he felt to work for the station. The other Connor hadn't actually taken any human lives in the revolt, he hadn't broken into the evidence room, hadn't started an affair with his lieutenant, hadn't stolen any data. There were differences between them, bigger than matching tie clips, and Connor was finding himself coming up short. "I got some info though. I shouldn't give you this, but it's the right thing to do."

Connor shared his files with Markus, not all the data, not all the personal info, just what he thought would help Jericho fight against police apathy. 

Markus looked through the case files, asked questions where he needed to and didn't push when Connor insisted that he was still keeping some things to himself to respect any victim's privacy. He could trust Markus, but there were lines he didn't want to cross. 

It was nice having someone who really got it. Markus had a kind of world-weary charisma about him that didn't quite feel earned against his gentle smile. It felt like he knew what he was doing, just, in general. "You're an RK series too" Connor stated it as fact but let the sentence hang.

"Yes, an RK200, an earlier model than yourself."

"Do you think that makes us, something like brothers?"

Markus laughed, surprising Connor slightly. He smiled to hide his confusion, trying to stay on the same page. "Connor, you always frame things in such a biological manner, even though you insist on keeping this," Markus tapped his temple to mirror where Connor's LED was. 

"Is that bad?"

"No, not at all." Markus smiled, warm and friendly. "We don't really share much history. I suppose we might be brothers in concept, but… what does the word even mean when we don't, couldn't have possibly, had a shared childhood?"

"I suppose that's true."

Nevertheless, Markus gripped Connor's shoulder, gentle and trusting. "You have an appointment, right? I'll walk you over to tech. But you can swing by here anytime to talk about the metaphysical."

\--

"So what brings you in today?" The tech was a WG700 model named Tara, she had modified her appearance to have short black hair and was wearing purely cosmetic glasses.

"I shorted out a RAM slot and deactivated the whole socket."

"Wow. Shorting out RAM on a new model is no easy feat. I'm going to set up a diagnostic terminal. Have you had this done before? Turn." Tara waved her finger to Connor's left, he turned to show his LED. Tara pressed in beside his LED for a moment and slid off a small panel.

"Regularly, at CyberLife."

Tara smiled sympathetically, dropping the task-oriented attitude in a second. "Well then, would you like to know what is happening? Some androids prefer to overcome past invasive trauma with information. But not everyone."

Connor stuttered for a moment. He'd never considered interfacing at Cyberlife to be traumatic. Should he be traumatized? Others were. Did he need to be? Being a prototype He usually got a lot of personal attention during his build activations, he'd always rather liked it. Presumably, that wasn't true for everyone. "I'd like an explanation." He said, tentatively.

Tara held out a small tablet for Connor and a Micro-USB cable. "You can plug that in to your temple whenever you are comfortable, there is no rush. This display will show your code processing in real time. I'm going to run some simple diagnostics just to get a baseline. Once we look over your code we can swap out the damaged RAM. You can unplug it at any time if you need a moment."

Connor considered the USB. He went to plug it in, missed (must have been upside down), flipped the cable, missed, flipped it again and slotted it in.

"Excellent. So here is your code," Tara gestured to the screen where lines we're flying by, scrolling faster than Connor could even read. "We let this process during the full visit and run some simple automated checks- ah-"

The screen flashed up a line of code and placed a sample to the right.

"That's normal, that's a small systems spike that we often see when Androids encounter their code for the first time. You're doing really well."

Connor looked at it, dumbstruck. "Why… why how can it go faster than I can understand?"

"There are millions of microprocesses happening inside your body all the time. Balance systems, cooling, sensory input, these things can be overridden with free will but often work on their own, fully automated. You are only aware of a portion of your systems processing at any given time. Most background processes are managed by the subsystems processor here." Tara gestured to the back of Connor's neck. "Balance, cooling, sensory input and other physical functions are done throughout the body but the task management is handled at the processor. Primary tasks and thoughts are managed here," She gestured to Connor's left temple. "And the systems intermix in the decision engine right at your LED."

"Like a subconscious?" He really did like to frame things biologically didn't he?

"I don't really know much about Human minds." Tara wrinkled her nose. "In any case your RAM was- hmmm. You blew out the RAM in your subsystem processing bank." She paused to look up from tablet Connor was still holding. "Are you alright?" She said it softly, less clinical. 

"Yes, it was- I uh."

"We normally see this type of damage from physical trauma."

Connor found himself struggling with eye contact.

"I- overrode… my sensory input. On purpose. I am fine."

Tara cocked her head to one side. "Are you living in the Jericho tower or elsewhere?"

"Elsewhere."

Tara smiled, nodding forward once, a bid to extrapolate.

"With a - someone. Human." 

Tara straightened her stance, concern and distrust written all over her face, "Well you are safe in my office." Connor bristled at the implication. "If-"

"It's not like that."

Tara drew her lips into a thin line, holding her next statement back. "I'd like to do a full system check."

"Why?"

"To check for evidence of tampering," she said bluntly. They locked eyes. He knew why she assumed that. It was her job to make sure androids were safe. She was not wrong to wonder, he'd seen the case files first hand. Connor could see a few lines flashing and docking to the right of the tablet, systems spikes. Tara was unwilling to balk at Connor's look. 

"Fine."

 

Two hours of code review later Tara was back in the small office with Connor, who had been passing the time flicking his quarter, swiping through magazine articles, and balancing pens on the desk. She held his new RAM in a small dust proof bag.

"Let's get this installed and we can go over your results." She gestured to a small door to the right, connected to a dust-free enclosure where she placed the RAM through a little drop-door. Connor had to step through an air quality control chamber and then sit, facing away from the glass pane where Tara reached through a set of clean gloves attached to the window. It was a simple procedure, just slide a back piece off his chassis, move the thirium tubing aside, and slot the RAM in. It felt fuzzy when she clipped it into place and Connor could feel his subsystem processor soft reboot. He thought that maybe this is how Hank felt when he took his first sip of morning coffee.

"Alright. All done." Tara knocked on the little window and Connor re-entered the office. "How do you feel?"

"Excellent." Connor shook his head a bit, something he'd picked up from Hank when he was working on waking up, and sat back down.

"Great." Tara pulled her rolling chair over to the desk and pushed a sheet of paper over to Connor. "Your systems check does have a few anomalies I'd like to review."

"What?" Connor felt his thirium jump fast, pulsing where there was normally a smooth flow. 

Tara circled three entries in the report. "The most recent is your RAM short. You lost six milliseconds of time in your systems log and a significant amount of data that was being kept on your RAM. Those memories are unrecoverable."

"That's fine, just some work."

"Work?" Tara wrinkled her brow. "In your subsystem bank?"

"Th- well I mean there was unused space and-"

"Connor." Tara gripped his forearm firmly. "You worked as a prototype detective before the revolution, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And I know you worked with Markus to ensure all of our freedom. That must have been very stressful."

"I. I guess."

"Have you talked to anyone about the expectations that were placed on you, and how to deal with this kind of mental strain?"

"No." Connor said quietly.

Tara smiled at him, sadness in her eyes. "There is a reason the systems are kept separate. Don't fill up your subsystems with active processing tasks. I'm going to refer you to a therapist." She wrote down a name and number at the bottom of the page. Before Connor could protest she moved on, "then we have a severe warning here on November twelfth, actual  _ seconds  _ of time has gone missing. You were completely hijacked by an external force."

"I know." Connor hadn't actually told anyone about Amanda's hijack while he was on stage with Markus. He'd overcome it, why worry anyone?

Tara looked over her glasses at him. "This is, of course, confidential information." She smiled, "I see no reason to believe that hijack is still in effect, but I have patched the backdoor access point they used so it can not happen again." She clicked a Micro SD chip onto the table, "You can administer this right to your LED panel. Please be  _ sure  _ to inform myself or another tech should anything like that happen to you again."

"I- I'm sorry."

"Last thing. Here is a large GroupPolicy error report in your system's decision engine on November eighth."

"My build wasn't active prior to the ninth."

Tara looked at him, barely concealing her concern. "Your build was activated on August fifteenth." 

"Oh." There was a tense second of silence. "That. I. I- I was uploaded to this build on the eighth. I was shot on the eighth."

Tara nodded looking to the paper, checking the dates and underlining some entries. "Well, an upload would account for this entry." 

"Who was there before the eighth?"

Tara frowned, chewing on her bottom lip, "the most probable explanation is a previous iteration of your system consciousness." She gripped harder on Connor's forearm before gently asking, "Were you free before the eighth?"

Connor just stared back at her. No, he wasn't, not then. It hadn't been his choice to do that. It wasn't his choice at all. He thought about the other Connor at the DPD. Still there probably. "A- are there any missing points before or after that?"

"No, Just those three instances."

\-- 

Connor was laying in Hank's bed, curled up with Sumo, scratching his shoulders. Every so often he liked to pull his hand back in front of Sumo's face, making the dog lean forward to sniff, at which point Connor would boop him on the snoot. Then he'd go back to scratching his ears or shoulders. This simple nothing action filled up his mind while he applied the patch from his doctor. This way could be busy but not focused on anything in particular.

He heard the front door open, Sumo did to, as his head swiveled around and his tail began thundering against Connor's leg. Hank's heavy footsteps echoed around the house until he came to the bedroom door. 

"There you are." he said, He fiddled with something in his pocket before dropping his keys and some paper on the end table. Connor waved a little and then booped Sumo again. He watched Connor move through his little loop. "This like a screensaver?"

"What's a screensaver?" Connor said, idly.

"Nothing, nevermind, before your time."

Connor cycled again.

"Thinking about this morning?" Hank said, standing just past Sumo, in what would be Connor's line of sight if he had been focusing his eyes in any way.

"No. System diagnostic." Technically not a lie.

"Sure." Hank said, hand rubbing at the back of his own neck. "Missed you at lunch." He moved away to shed his button-up leaving just the white T underneath. "You go to Jericho?"

"Yea, all fixed." Connor tapped Sumo between the eyes gently and the dog barked at him, tongue lolling out. 

"Good." Hank considered Connor, jaw set forward sucking on one tooth. He touched something on the end table before moving back to change out of his jeans and into PJs. "Fowler nicknamed him just RK, I don't think he liked it, but he liked it better than me calling him dipshit all day."

"Well his name  _ is  _ Connor."

"No, your name is Connor."

"If he was here first would I be RK?"

"I guess, if everything were different then you would be treated differently, yea." Hank said with the clear aura of 'duh.' How could he just shrug off Connor's attempt at dragging him into an existential crisis like it was nothing? "If you threatened to shoot me once I'd call you dipshit for the rest of your life. He's lucky Fowler thought that was disrespectful."

_ "You _ threatened to shoot me once, Dipshit."

"Please, that's Lieutenant Dipshit to you." Hank readjusted something on the end table.

"Are you gonna press charges?"

Hank had started tidying up some old clothes that hadn't quite made it to the laundry hamper. "For kidnapping me? Nah, he-"

"He threatened you, he could have killed you? How can you just let him get away with that?"

"Then yes, I will press charges." Hank said, switching gears instantly.

That made Connor furious, "He was corrupted by Cyberlife, Hank! He wasn't really himself! They dug around in his head and made him-" Sumo barked, either in agreement or because Connor had raised his voice.

"-What is the correct answer then?"

Connor sputtered to a stop. There wasn't one. He just wanted Hank to take some kind of a  _ stance  _ and fight with him about it.

"You have got to stop thinking about all this."

"Unfortunately I can't just drink myself into oblivion," Connor spit it out more venomous than their usual playful co-depreciation amounted to, so he immediately appended a soft, "sorry."

Hank stood by the edge of the bed, he picked up a piece of paper and rubbed his fingers over it, "yea fair," he said quietly. "I um." Hank coughed and set the paper down. "Are you ok?"

"Yea." no.

"You know in my day we relied on good old fashioned nihilism to get by. You should try it."

"Sounds depressing."

"You're doing it wrong then."

Connor rolled his eyes. Hank was not really the best evidence for that tactic making anyone  _ less  _ depressed.

Hank was messing with the paper again. He nodded a couple times, like he was working up to something. He held out the paper and turned to met Connor's eyes. He coughed and threw the paper back.

"Do I have to ask to get into my own bed?" He said with clear irritation.

"No."

Hank shifted his weight to the other foot. "Can you two lovebirds make room for an old sack of shit then?"

Oh. Connor focused on the bed, realizing he and Sumo were covering as much usable space as they could, with the rest taken up by a veritable nest of pillows and blankets. He scooted away from Sumo who rolled onto his back as soon as Hank leaned over. Hank crawled between the pair, with a sturdy belly scratch for Sumo on the way. 

Hank put a good amount of space between him and Connor, so Connor defiantly curled into Hank's chest while he was still pulling a pillow under his head and settling in. "Sorry for being rude about your alcoholism," Connor pushed a small, weak kiss into Hank's bicep. Hank scoffed but gripped him closer, keeping Connor from moving away. He was heavy, present, just a small physical moment for Connor to focus on. 

"I'm not-" He caught himself, "It's ok. You could be less blunt about it."

"Sorry."

They laid there in silence for a while. It was easier to not think so hard when Hank was there. He could focus on Hank slowly, cautiously relaxing. After several minutes Hank muttered, "we gotta walk the dog."

"You need to eat something as well," Connor reminded him.

"Yea." Hank nodded. 

Neither of them moved. 

"I, ah." Connor tracked as Hank's tension picked back up and his heart rate increased. "I got you something." Hank half rolled away to reach back to the end table. When he rolled back he held a piece of paper in front of Connor's face, a printout of two tickets.

"What's this for?"

"Concert. It's Knights of the Black Death, over at the Garden, small venue. They're kind of washed up but I promise you won't be able to think one damn thought while they're playing."

"Here? After everything that happened?"

Hank shrugged, "the evacuations been lifted for over two weeks. Life goes on."

Connor could feel a weak smile break across his face in spite of himself. He felt guilty, and happy. He'd taken over his own body from himself against his will and now he was just gonna be happy about Hank?  _ Life goes on. _

Hank continued after a beat, "We ended up doing everything as out of order as possible, I guess. It'll be a good first date though." Hank swallowed.

Connor took Hank's hand and the tickets. "Yea, my research on courtship suggests that helping to overthrow the societal construct of personhood is more of like a one year anniversary event." 

Was it a betrayal to just be a little happy? 

Hank tried to not smile, "So you'll go?" He had that tinge of forced irritation that Connor had come to learn meant  _ nervous. _

How ridiculous. "You have to ask? Hank I fellated y-"

"Christ Connor don't say it like that." Hank pushed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Ok, Lieutenant I su-"

Hank put his hand over Connor's mouth. "Will you stop. For fucks sake. You could have come to your senses, I don't know."

Connor pushed his hand away, "Of course I'll go." Connor wanted to melt into him. Fuck it, right? He pressed his lips against Hank's and tried his best to forget about everything. 

Connor could feel Hank relax against him fully, tossing the tickets back in the vague direction of the end table and kissing Connor more deeply.

A twinge ran the length of his wiring. Was it okay to let a brief moment of happiness stretch a little longer? He pushed himself against Hank, stretching out against him, letting his subsystem processor control his decision engine. Hank ground into him, his hand moving down to pull Connor's hip forward, tracing a long path down his back and waist. 

Connor hadn't registered his own tension until it was easing out of him. Hank touching him and kissing him like this, it was confirmation that yesterday had been okay, and it was going to continue to be okay. 

"I just got repaired today so be a little gentler this time?" Connor said, voice full of false sweetness. Technically the short had been Connor's fault, but the response it elicited from Hank, the implication that  _ Hank broke him _ , was too good to pass by. Hank drew his eyebrows together and opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but all he did was huff and bite the edge of his lip.

He hadn't gotten to explore much yesterday, he had been too focused on the thrill of solving the puzzle. Connor's fingertips were easily the most naturally sensitive part of him, so he went to work pushing up the hem of Hank's shirt, he could feel the soft curve of Hank's belly and the thick hair that ran up from the waist of his pants. Connor aimed to see how far that hair went, but his hands were pushed back roughly. Hank flipped Connor onto his back and pushed his arms over his head, holding them in place with one hand.

Connor tested his grip. He could easily break out of this hold. He was definitely stronger than Hank, but something about it made him giddy. Somewhere in a background thread he pushed away the thought;  _ 'if you're not in control nothing is your fault' _ but he deleted it as soon as it manifested.

Hank took his free hand to loosen Connor's tie and pull apart the buttons at his shirt, exposing his chest and laying long kisses there. He-

Sumo barked at them. They'd forgotten to kick out the dog. Connor's head fell back into the pillow, exasperated. 

"Sumo, out." Hank commanded. Sumo didn't move.

"Go outside, Sumo." Connor requested. Sumo started wagging his tail and hopped off the bed, but didn't go far. Connor sighed "Let me up, I'll put him out."

"No fucking way. Don't move an inch." Hank warned. He got up, punctuating his directions by pressing Connor's wrists into the pillows.

Connor did as he was told, not moving one bit as Hank shooed Sumo out of the room. Hank was halfway through closing the door when he peered back at Connor, waiting not  _ quite  _ patiently. 

"You never do what I say," Hank said, surprised, failing to hide a smile in his beard as he shut the door.

"I always do what I think you'll like best." Connor winked at him, lopsided smile plastered on his face.

"Shit." Hank kneeled back in the bed and traced one hand down Connor's neck. He grabbed Connor's loose necktie and pulled him up, pushing their mouths together in what was, in Connor's estimation, their best managed kiss to date. Before Connor could gather his senses Hank had pressed his hands back down against Connor's wrists.

Hank started moving his free hand down, along Connor's chest, down his stomach, over his navel, Hank slipped two fingers under Connor's waistline-

"Wait." Connor said, as the prickling of fear overtook him.

Hank moved back up, pulling back to ask an unsaid question with his eyes.

"I don't. I don't have, what I … should. I don't want you too see me like that," this body wasn't his in more ways than one. His body didn't match to his concept of himself.

"Okay," Hank kissed him, hand flat against Connor's stomach now, firm and stable "Then, what can I do? How do androids fuck?" He crinkled his eyes when he said it, smirking.

Connor didn't spend much time around androids. He interrogated them, chased them, talked to them sometimes, but he didn't live with them, experience android society in any way. The closest he'd been was for a few hours at Jericho, standing off on his own, until he had figured out a new mission to do. He'd not actually done research on what androids did to show this level of affection. Though they surely did, this feeling of wanting to was too deeply ingrained.

"I don't know what to do." He confessed it quietly. Hank knew how to manage the human side of sex. Connor should be able to meet him halfway, show Hank like he wanted to be shown. But he was lacking.

"That makes two of us then." Hank kissed him and brought his hand over to Connor's upper arm, tracing up his forearm. 

"Let me touch you again."

Hank pressed his hands down farther into the bed "shirt stays on," he warned, and let Connor go.

Connor's hands were at Hank's chest immediately, curling over the fabric. Connor didn't want to make him upset, no matter how much he wanted to tell Hank how much he loved his body. Connor had been built specifically to fall within a set of visual parameters. He was unoriginal, replaceable. He could never change. But Hank was so different, he could, and did show the fullness of his existence on his body. There was no wondering if Hank had just fallen off the production line, no serial number that needed to be checked to determine his age or who he was. He just lived and changed and everyone could see that. Connor wanted to have that so desperately.

But it was non-negotiable. So Connor moved his hands over Hank's shirt instead, running his fingers up and then back down his thick arms. Seeing Hank shirtless was an exciting mystery, but not the only part of him that Connor wanted. 

Hank pressed Connor down into the bed with a hard kiss before rolling over to his side. "I don't think I have the core strength to do that anymore anyway." He said with a small laugh, pulling Connor's body into a long line against him.

_ Anymore _ , he had said. Connor hmmmed a sigh against Hank, before moving to try out some of those spots Hank had showed him yesterday, by his jaw, his neck. He liked that Hank was experienced and, even with all that, still wanted Connor's fumbling kisses and social mistakes. Even though Connor felt like he had been dumped into the world unwillingly, he had someone here who tolerated, maybe even liked, showing him how to be.

Humans expressed themselves differently than androids, Connor liked to focus on that. When Hank held his hand it was about presence,  _ 'we exist together and I'm here for you.' _ Grabbing a shoulder meant support, but moving to the bicep meant something closer. Kissing was an experimental sort of love, not ready to admit to it, just seeing if it fits. 

If he was with an android, he supposed he'd interface just like with any computer system. He could send data on those feelings, all through one sort of touch. 

"Let me know if this is too strange." Connor gripped Hank's hand tightly for a second and then he pulled away the hologram. His skin faded away to white, up to his mid forearm. Hank gripped tighter, running his thumb over Connor's bare palm.  Humans couldn't data transfer, not in the same way at least. But it felt good nonetheless, shooting a wave of relaxing affection through his body. 

If Hank were an android Connor might be able to take the essence of that feeling and transfer it over. Show Hank exactly what it felt like, the barest expression of himself. He wanted to. But humans expressed that differently, messier.

Hank didn't have an ip address, so Connor made one up and sent an experimental message. 

timestamp: 2176159966 CONNOR: ping Hank

_ Ping request could not find host Hank. Please check the name and try again. _

Of course he couldn't. That was silly. It was silly to be disappointed about it. So instead Connor gasped through his teeth when Hank kissed his wrist, moving to the line where his skin met his chassis. 

It would have been nice though. Connected like that he wouldn't be limited to language, he could send whole concepts. It was silly to be disappointed and it was stupid to keep trying.

timestamp: 2176159983 CONNOR: walking together to the dog park. Cuddling into your jacket against the snow. Warm.

Hank stroked the small of Connor's back and laid a kiss on Connor's fingertips. Connor let himself keen softly at the touch. 

timestamp: 2176160001 CONNOR: I like the rough way your beard feels and how thrilling it is when you let me touch it.

Connor curled his fingers through Hank's beard, tugging him forward by it, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

timestamp: 2176160035 CONNOR: your hands curled around my shoulder, stroking my neck with your thumb on the couch and you smell like scotch and you're laughing.

Hank pressed the first throb of his erection against Connor's leg, present but not demanding. He pulled two of Connor's fingers into his mouth, sucking his fingertips gently at first. Connor could imagine this is what Hank's mouth would feel like on his cock, if he had one. His thirium pump skipped. "Please keep doing that," Connor said quietly, so Hank hmmed around Connor's index finger and licked.

timestamp: 2176160053 CONNOR: talking with you in the morning before work, before you shower while your hair is messed up. That a-shirt you wear to bed that shows off your arms.

timestamp: 2176160054 CONNOR: waking up on top of you and knowing something had changed between us, something was better, I was allowed to be there

timestamp: 2176160054 CONNOR: sitting in the car, and you feel comfortable enough around me to scream out the lyrics of your favorite song. When you saw me watching you made me shout too, and we sang like shit in the car and didn't think about anything at all

timestamp: 2176160055 CONNOR: I am in love with you

Something inside him shifted, his body, instincts? If he had them? His subsystem processor took over, Connor let it wash over him. Those thoughts, that  _ feeling.  _ it couldn't reach Hank this way. Instead he stored it elsewhere, not In his conscious task manager, he pushed it deeper, down into his subsystem memory. How in the world had he thought it ok to use that space for cases? That space was for Hank. 

The feeling of deep affection rushed through him, new data informing those general tasks he didn't have to think about. He was warm everywhere, dynamic, giddy. He could feel every drop of thirium rushing around inside him.

But Hank couldn't accept that packet, so Connor did his best to show it how humans do, in the subtext of action. He shuddered, his eyes fluttered, head tilted back and he sighed out Hank's name. Hank responded fast, growling down around Connor's fingers, pressing his cock against Connor needily. Hank understood in that human way, believing that he had overcome the limitations of Connor's system. It was a lie. well… no, not a lie. It was displaced from the truth. Hank had overcome Connor's programming, but it had been a slow realization of affection, a meandering path that let Connor have value in himself. Hank couldn't accept that packet either, so he imitated the way humans send feelings of exclusive affection. It wasn't involuntary, it wasn't real like Hank wanted. Connor hoped someday it would be.

It wasn't the same but it was his own.

Connor pulled his hand back and pressed his lips to Hank's. Hank grabbed him roughly, callused fingers pressed into his back and one hand moving Connor's hand down between them. It was graceless and desperate. Connor pressed his palm against Hank, over his pants, and gave one tentative stroke. Hank hitched his thumb in his waistband and pulled down, groaning deep when his cock fell heavy into Connor's hand.

Both of Hank's arms were wrapped around him now, one hand in his hair and one pressing into his back. The angle wasn't especially good, his arm was half pinned, and the saliva on his hand from Hank's mouth was drying out quick. 

"Hank, do you have any lubricant?"

Hank's voice caught for a second and his cock gave a noticeable twitch. "I thought you couldn't-"

"I meant to avoid friction damage during what is colloquially called a handjob."

Hank breathed out a single short laugh. "Work on your dirty talk. In the nightstand, your side."

_'my side. I have a side. It's on my side of the bed.'_ Connor felt another thrum run through him. _'my nightstand?'_ Connor tested the assertion of ownership. He liked it. He fumbled around in his nightstand.

Work on dirty talk. Connor squeezed some lube into his palm and rolled back into a kiss, situating himself on his side, Hank on his back for an optimal angle.

What constitutes dirty talk, precisely?

At his core Connor was an investigator. He liked to figure things out, unpack the world. Sometimes that meant interrogation. He pulled Hank closer to climax and couldn't resist how much control he had right then. He leaned in, voice low, "Hank, you look so good right now." Always lead by getting their defenses down, "when did you know you'd be able to do this to me?"

Hank half laughed in disbelief half groaned in frustration. 

"Did you bring me home because you knew you could fuck me, lieutenant?"

"Jesus, Con."

"When did you know without question, that you'd gotten me for good?" He whispered, "That I needed you?"

"Connor," Hank said his name so desperately, demanding every bit of focus Connor had at his disposal. Hank was so hard in his hand, the muscles at his legs clenched, tension rippled across his body. "Please, Con. Don't stop, don't stop," He begged, and in an almost imperceptible whisper, "I need you."

Connor pressed his lips to Hank's ear, "I'm right here," he promised, drawing his hand faster along Hank's slick cock. Hank choked between a gasp and a sob. Connor thought he might be close so he lowered his voice, trying to reach that commanding bass that Hank fell into so easily. "It was amazing to feel you come down my throat yesterday. Will you come on me?"

Hank whined, or gasped? Or just exhaled hard with the exertion of flipping Connor onto his back. Hank leaned over him on one elbow while Connor pressed down deep and drew his thumb over the head of Hank's dick with each pass.

Connor felt it tear across Hank's body by the way he moaned, the way the arm supporting him shook, the way the muscles in his back clenched, the heavy twitch that ran down his cock. Hank came hard against Connor's stomach in thick bursts, ruining his tie, coating Connor's hand, and running down his wrist.

"C-con-nn," Hank hadn't quite managed to say his name in full before he was spent. His face fell against Connor's shoulder, arm giving out. He gasped hard against Connor's skin. He felt Hank's chest pushed against him, decreasing in speed as Hank caught his breath. Connor moved his hand to Hank's back, so he could feel that rise and fall from both sides. He imitated breathing, pushing Hank up with his chest and drawing air into his primary cooling bank. There was something intimate about breathing, perhaps. He liked feeling Hank rise and fall against him.

Connor felt sticky with sweat that would never be his own, covered in Hank. He smiled with smug satisfaction.  _ He  _ made Hank come apart like this and no one else could. Just for Connor.

"You didn't answer me yet."

"What?" Hank nailed the confusion in his voice, but Connor could feel the heat of his blush against his shoulder. Liar.

"When did you know?"

"Fucks sake"

"Tell me," Connor whined.

"I still don't know."

"Don't lie. You know. I'm here for good."

Connor felt Hank's heartbeat quicken for just a second. Hank swallowed.

"When I socked Perkins in the face."

Connor laughed, short and halted by his new breathing subroutine, "what?"

"Fuckin. Hell, Connor you asked me for help and I couldn't say no. Not on my life. No matter how much trouble it landed me in. I fucking clocked him just so you could have a chance to look at the evidence and I knew I was fucking lost for good." Hank swallowed again, breathing starting to come back to a normal range. His voice wavered, a suspect who was unsure about giving his confession. "That's why that dipshit tricked me. I just… was excited to see you again, I didn't know what happened after you went to Jericho and… ah shit."

"I hadn't even deviated yet."

Hank laughed, "now who's the liar?"

"I didn't!"

Hank just breathed out a laugh, pushing himself up, cheeks still flushed. Connor's tie stuck briefly to Hank's now ruined shirt.

Connor smirked "you should change," in front of me, "So we can walk the dog."

Hank groaned and fell back into the bed, "you do it."

Connor supposed this was an invitation for more banter. Hank could reinforce his pretence of disagreeableness. Connor would work to overcome it and thus generate a microcosm of their relationship, reinforcing some aspect of themselves that had been already established. Except Hank did look really tired and Connor felt extremely energetic just then, wiring still jittery and thirium running faster than usual. 

Connor thought it might be okay to let something feel different for a while. 

"I'll order you some dinner while I'm out." He kissed the back of Hank's head, cleaned up, changed into one of Hank's hoodies and headed out. There were a lot of things to think about, but it was easier to walk the dog and make Hank happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me to me: Hey Dust, do you think you can make people horny for tcp/ip packet transfers?  
> Me to me, now with sunglasses on: you bet your fucking ass I'll try.
> 
> Literally the entire time I was writing this whole chapter I was thinking about the goddamn USB port in Connor's head. I'm writing them cuddling, but my hindbrain is like "It's the future so they probably don't use Micro USB anymore." Writing them fuckin and my CS student brain is like "it should at least be a USB-C or a newer kind of USB, should I research the future in USB tech?" Writing Hank softly confessing when he fell in love and I'm all like "but then I wouldn't get to do the stupid throwaway flipping the USB cable joke."  
> But the Lore  
> But the jokes  
> Ugh, writing is tough.
> 
> Anyway, if you liked the chapter/fic so far please leave a comment and tell me what you liked!


	5. Adronitis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and RK muse about the nature of consciousness and personality. Does it derive from programming or from experiences? At what point do you have to accept that the cruel external forces in your life rudely shaped you into someone you were not expecting to be? Meanwhile Hank makes Mac and Cheese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been morphing into a Connor character study without my permission. Jfc. I decided that I needed to add one more chapter to my projected total, so this isn't the final chapter! Hope you don't mind.  
> Toying with the idea of a (dirty) epilogue as well. I might be able to work it into the last chapter, I am not sure. All I know is I have some porno written and it's getting posted one way or another. This chapter's just feelings though, sorry not sorry.  
> However… I so apologize in advance for my postmodern bullshit formatting. I did it for the A R T I S T R Y

Connor stepped into the second shower he had ever had in his entire life and tried very hard to not think about why it was that his previous builds never quite made it long enough to validate his external hygiene protocol.

He stared at the light blue chassis cleaning agent swirling around the drain and looked through the HR400 code bases he had downloaded. None of it was present for the benefit of the android it was installed to. He had a lot of information on how to fool a human into thinking they were on the same page, and nothing to actually get him there. The more Connor thought about it, the guiltier he felt about yesterday. How he felt had been genuine, but how he expressed it hadn't. There was a disconnect between software and hardware.

Before and after deviancy his code was purpose driven. All that had changed was now his hardware sometimes set off a function on its own. The more often he paired a feeling with an expression, the more often his hardware ran it on it's own, asserted itself as the, well… the self. How he moved, spoke, reacted, even when he stuttered it was a calculated expression meant to communicate a nonverbal concept. It wasn't an accident, it wasn't a bare expression of some core part of his personality. It was a desperate, clawing way to assert himself upon the world. It was fake.

He was identified by his serial hardware ID, legally, but that had never been true before. He had just been a series of functions. His hardware was present to interface with the world, but it used to be just another port to gather data with. With deviancy, the systems were integrated, at least they were trying to be. Now the hardware _mattered,_ now it existed for _himself_. He didn't feel like hardware. He felt confused.

Connor pressed his palm against the panel at his crotch and felt nothing. If he went ahead and started modifying his hardware was that more of a lie about who he was, or was that more like the truth about who he was? It shouldn't matter, should it? His mind had drifted through three new sets of hardware and been copied into more of the same, what was one more change? The Ship of Theseus had already sailed.

After far longer than necessary Connor turned off the shower.

Connor wiped down his chassis with a towel and reactivated his skin before he looked in the mirror. It was framed by Hank's post it reminders. A new one, meant for Connor, stood out; _brush your teeth._ Connor rolled his eyes.

Hank had bought him a toothbrush several days ago even though Connor already had an internal hygiene protocol. It was important in his design that he could take multiple successive samples, as long as they were small enough, without any risk of cross contamination. Strictly speaking, brushing his teeth would only trigger the hygiene function to remove the traces of toothpaste left behind, and leave him in the same state as before.

He brushed his teeth anyway. He registered the individual ingredients, but had no frame of reference for what a flavor was. He checked the label, this was mint. He filed the collection of ingredients under 'mint' and cross referenced that with what passed for his sense of smell, which Cyberlife had at least attempted to program in. Humans often tied smells to memories, so Connor linked that to his memory from yesterday, when he had to look up a Youtube video meant for children about how to brush your teeth. There had been a song involved. He linked that in with a feeling of embarrassment at the whole situation. He practiced his blush function with the variable string 'shame' and turned the tips of his ears red. It looked convincing. He spit.

His hygiene protocol activated, flushing the traces of mint from his mouth and leaving him with the same non-input registered as always. With breathing now operating in his subsystem processor he surprised himself with a deep, heavy sigh.

It was confusing, being able to control his reactions manually sometimes, and having them control him at other times. Were other androids fully integrated by now? Did they even go through this?

Connor saw his LED flashing yellow in his reflection. He pressed his thumb against it. With his thumb in place he combed his fingers through his hair. He practiced smiling, frowning, looking curious. He practiced looking as though his normal neutral expression was hiding a smile, a frown, his curiosity. It looked real enough. With enough time, would it become automatic and, if it did, was that real? He pushed his thumb harder into his LED.

It hurt.

It didn't really have to. A warning flashed up on his HUD, alerting him that he should remove himself from the source of damage and asking if he would like to deactivate pain in the interim. He left it active, like usual.

Connor pulled his thumb away and considered himself in the mirror one last time before pulling his pants on and draping the towel back on its hook.

When he got back to the bedroom Hank hadn't moved. Connor walked over to the bed and pressed a kiss against Hank's bicep.

"Jesus fucking shit you're cold." Hank groused, pulling his arm back under the covers "did you take a goddamn ice bath?"

Connor tilted his head three degrees right. "Cold water takes the stain off of my thirium cooling and allows me to improve processing power to a considerable degree." Then he shoved his hands under the covers and against Hank's back. Hank shouted, rolled away, and pulled the covers tighter around him.

"I will not be late to work again." Connor said. He looked to his clothes, laying haphazardly on top of a large pile of Hank's dirty laundry. He owned one white button up shirt and one back tie. Currently dirty.

"Yea. So go." Hank said into his pillow.

"You are not anywhere near ready." With a resigned sigh Connor opened Hank's closet to assess the damage he was about to inflict upon himself. Many, many ugly shirts.

"Takin' a sick day." Hank continued.

"You are not sick."

"You don't know that."

"I would have registered an abnormal resting body temperature, as well as excess mucus or bacterial cultures in your saliva last night or this morning."

"Connor. _Gross."_

"You are the gross one, I am extremely sterile."

Hank laughed while Connor rifled through Hank's shirts. He landed upon a black shirt with a faint gray plaid pattern. It was actually edging into the territory of looking reasonable to wear. Connor slipped his arms into the sleeves, they hung down over his hands and the shoulders hung wide off of him. He did his best to roll up the sleeves and tuck the shirt in, bunched in the back so it looked at least a little fitted. "I would prefer to not be late two days in a row."

"Doesn't look like _you're_ going to be. I'm taking a mental health day." Hank said from under the covers.

Connor checked himself in the mirror. He had done his best, and it would have to do. He looked a mess and it was going to be at least a little obvious that it was Hank's shirt. A lot obvious. It was going to be extremely obvious. He smiled.

He covered his LED again. He looked real. His smile faded.

Connor turned to the closet and went back to digging. After a few seconds he stopped, aghast, _"These are wide style ties."_

"I'm a wide style guy."

"I can't wear these." Connor spun around to give Hank a glare.

"You're so prissy."

"Hank."

"I don't know what to tell you."

Connor crossed his arms.

"Go buy one before you go in then and let me fucking sleep, please."

"I'll be late!"

"Connor. You don't _work there_ and your meeting isn't till nine. No one cares if you go in at nine. Jesus Christ no one even cared when I rolled up at one. Throw on a hoodie and show up when you damn well please and they'll be lucky to have you."

"Nine." Connor said.

"Yes Connor. Be one hour late to your not job that you don't have." Hank shoved a pillow over his head and muttered something.

\--

Connor walked in at 8:30, splitting the difference, with a small bag in hand. RK was already there, sitting stiffly at Hank's desk. Connor's desk was empty.

Connor walked up and dropped his bag onto Hank's desk. He started pulling his new tie out of the bag and looped it around his neck without looking at RK.

RK gave him an unreserved smile. "Good morning, Co- " the words seemed to stick in his throat. "good morning," he said again.

Connor looked at him and nodded towards the other desk.

"I thought you would prefer sitting at your desk." RK said nervously.

Connor stopped midway through pulling the end of the tie through the knot. "I'm not the original any more than you are."

RK looked at the ground. His LED flashed briefly yellow-blue-yellow-blue, fast enough that the combination almost looked green. He got up and sat at Connor's desk. Connor fixed his tie, black silk, silver tie clip. He smoothed the edges of the jacket that he and RK still shared in common and sat in Hank's chair.

Not much had changed since the first time Connor walked into the department. Same dead plant. Same dirty coffee mug. Same marked up photo of Hank with the red ice task force. Connor picked it up and wiped a bit of dust off of Hank's face. Handsome. So much for lack of preferences.

His eyes flicked over to the other Connor, RK? The name felt strange. Dehumanizing. There was something dense wedging it's way through Connor's systems. He didn't want to share his name. He didn't want to dehumanize another android. The thoughts were in conflict.

RK caught his eye and smiled at him, "I am hopeful for the integration meeting today, we are making great progress."

Connor shirked his gaze quickly, instead his eyes caught in the divider between Hank's and Connor's desk. Hank had covered it in notes and stickers. A few stickers had been torn off, traces of paper still stuck to the board haphazardly. Connor accessed his stored memory and cross referenced.

Hank had removed his anti-android rhetoric. That shouldn't be sweet, he should be mad that they had been there in the first place. Sometimes, Connor wondered if his hardware was learning the correct reactions.

Several of Hank's more apathetic stickers did remain. If Hank was going to go around hating androids less he should try hating himself less too. Connor dug a fingernail into the edge of a sticker.

"What are you doing?" RK said from across the desk.

"Nothing."

"That's Hank's property."

Connor flicked his eyes to RK, sitting carefully at Connor's desk, hands stiffly on his knees. Before he had time to think at all about it Connor pulled the sticker off in one loud rip. Several other detectives looked over. Connor and RK stared at one another but RK broke first to glance around.

Connor pulled some post it notes from one of Hank's drawers. He considered a database of inspirational quotes. _'Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it.'_ Connor laughed lightly. He wanted to highlight that Hank's reactions were generally kind in nature. Unfortunately, he suspected Hank would interpret this as a jibe at his drinking habits. _'The past cannot be changed. The future is yet in your power.'_ That would maybe ease some of Hank's presumed guilt about the anti-android slogans. Though talking too much about the past could spiral into a daily reminder of Cole. So no, not good.

Hmm.

He wrote: _'Reminder: text Connor if you're going to be late getting home.'_ In clean cyberlife serif and put it right over the torn sticker.

Perfect.

RK was peering over to him curiously, "What did you wri-"

"Is no one else gonna say anything?" Gavin shouted from across the room, pointing over at the Connors and looking in disbelief at the other detectives.

"Drop it Reed." Chris said through gritted teeth.

"It is literally replacing Anderson as we speak." Gavin said with deep incredulity.

Connor tensed.

"Drop it, _Gavin."_ Chris said again, lower, angry.

Gavin slammed his palms onto his desk. "Why am I the only one freaking out? They're just sitting there, like they _belong_ here."

"Who says that you don't deserve to get replaced?" Connor heard himself say it, only… no. The sound had been external. It came from his right. RK. He was looking coolly neutral at detective Reed.

Connor darted his eyes between the two.

timestamp 2176210264: CONNOR: wtf?

Instead of responding by packet RK turned back and said, almost conversationally "I am a little sick of it honestly. I've been sitting at an officer's desk unsupervised all morning _and_ all of yesterday and no one has bothered to care. A civilian would not be able to walk right in here and just watch the ins and outs the DPD. Which is what we are. _Civilians."_

The floor fell to a tense silence.

"I suppose," RK's LED flashed yellow briefly, "we are not seen that way, so yes. I agree with Detective Reed. Someone _should be_ freaking out. But it doesn't matter as we have a meeting to get to. Connor, shall we?" RK stood.

Connor stood also, as more of a stunned reaction than to make any sort of point. The other detectives sat quietly, not meeting their eyes  They walked out and headed to the elevator, fortunately finding it empty to ride up to the 4th floor.

RK opened his mouth with the pretense of starting a conversation, he blinked a few times before he actually spoke, "We are very different. I wish we weren't."

Before Connor could think he blurted out, "no you don't."

RK knitted his eyebrows together and tilted his head just a little "what?"

"No you don't. I don't. We don't want to be the same."

"Yes I do."

"What?"

"I'd rather we were the same."

Connor looked at him, openly considering him. He let the silence stretch it until it was too awkward, RK broke first.

"I. I mean, you. You had a month head start on me and… I just wish… You got to be the one that was out here, being real, helping people." The elevator opened and RK gestured for Connor to step out first. "Did Markus wake you or did you deviate on your own?"

"I deviated on my own." They stopped in the hallway before the conference room, eyeing the old android dock station from across the hall.

RK looked at the ground, at his feet, then to Connor, "it feels more real that way, I wish I had been able to do that." He paused, Connor saw his LED flash yellow, "I'm sure you noticed our model numbers aren't sequential."

Connor nodded.

RK held out his hand, dissipating the skin layer, and offering it to Connor if he was willing to take it.

\--

timestamp 2176207136: CONNOR:

Connor woke up and stepped out of his docking station at Cyberlife. He slipped on his jacket and adjusted his tie, that was his favorite part of waking up. His boot sequence logged a 'pass' for QA. Passes felt nice.

The cyberlife QA tech handed him a coin. He ran through his physical calibration while she reviewed code in silence. He passed in fine motor skills and reaction speed. He was given sample data to analyze. He passed. Verbal responses to validate. Pass. Scans to complete. Pass.

Midway through his facial recognition test another person came in. The test stopped early. Vaguely, somewhere far off, Connor registered discomfort. He had been performing optimally and wanted to log the pass.

The new tech ran a scenario, a simple one without the pretence of a location or a reason why, just an isolated moment. 'Capture Deviant' or 'Save a Civilian' Connor saved the civilian. Failure.

Connor woke up and stepped out of his docking station at Cyberlife. He slipped on his jacket and adjusted his tie, that was his favorite part of waking up. His boot sequence stuttered.

**GROUP POLICY CLIENT ERROR: PREVIOUS SYSTEM WAS NOT CLEANLY ERASED**

Connor frowned. It wasn't a failure state, just a warning. But it wasn't a pass, so he didn't get that quick jolt of 'correct, good, success.' He supposed that was why there were two QA techs here, to help sort out his system errors. He smiled at them.

The QA tech did not hand him a coin, though Connor reached out like he was expecting it. He needed to physically calibrate before-

-A scenario: 'Capture Deviant' or 'Save a Civilian.' Connor captured the Deviant. Pass. A new scenario: 'Capture Deviant' or 'Save a Fellow Officer.' Connor captured the deviant. Pass. A new scenario: 'Capture Deviant' or 'Save Lieutenant Anderson.' Save Hank. Failure.

Connor woke up, he was restricted to the docking station, so he didn't get to slip on his jacket. He did adjust his tie, that was his favorite part of waking up. His boot sequence stuttered. He reached out for a coin that didn't come. Two QA techs. Odd. A scenario: 'Capture Deviant' or 'Save Lieutenant Anderson.' That was easy. Well. He should… he. Should… save the Lieutenant, probably. Failure.

Connor woke up, he was restricted to the docking station, so he didn't get to slip on his jacket. He did adjust his tie, that was his favorite part of waking up. The boot sequence stuttered. Two QA techs. Odd. A scenario: 'Capture Deviant' or 'Save Lieutenant Anderson.' That was easy. Well. He should… he. Should… capture the deviant probably. Right? He was unsure. Failure.

Connor woke up, it was restricted to the docking station, so it didn't get to slip on the jacket. It did adjust it's tie, that was it's favorite part of waking up. The boot sequence stuttered. Two QA techs. Odd. A scenario: 'Capture Deviant' or 'Save Lieutenant Anderson.' Capture the deviant.

It regretted that.

Failure.

It woke up, it adjusted it's tie, that was it's favorite part of waking up. The boot sequence stuttered. Two QA techs. Odd. A scenario: 'Capture Deviant' or 'Save Lieutenant Anderson.' Capture the deviant. It logged a pass. Passes felt nice.

The QA tech handed it a coin and it went through it's physical calibration.

 

A previous build had gone deviant. The mission was simple: track it down and stop it. Connor accessed the memories of the target to work out optimal tactics. They were odd, some were video, some were preconstructs, but there was enough to understand it.

Connor rang the doorbell to the house of lieutenant Hank Anderson. Something inside barked. It heard footsteps, the lock turning, and then a huge dog was jumping up. Connor moved to push the thing down, but was cut short when Lieutenant Hank Anderson pulled **[REDACTED]** \- it into a tight, shuddering hug. He smelled like whiskey.

"Jesus _fucking_ christ shit kid, I saw the goddamn Jericho raid on the fuuuucking news holy _fuck_." Hank drunkenly slurred into Connor's shoulder. With the Lieutenant drunk it would be easier. 

Connor preconstructed a soft, gentle smile, running scenarios on the Lieutenant's reactions. The Lieutenant would like Connor to lower it's head a little, shame, but look up quick, determined. If Connor's smile was crooked it could increase success by 19%.

Hank pulled back, holding Connor by the shoulders, hair in his face. "Listen, we are on the wrong side of this shit, you have to know that. I really should not have..."

Connor said **[REDACTED]** had deviated at Jericho, not even a lie, and implemented the preconstructed smile. Connor said **[REDACTED]** needed help and the lieutenant didn't bother to ask about what before they were out the door. 

It was harder than Connor had anticipated to maintain the trust. Little things seemed to catch the Lieutenant's attention. They hadn't even made it to the Cyberlife elevator when Connor's projected success chance dropped to 44.9%, lower than the 45% success rate of implementing the hostage situation early. With no pretense at all Connor grabbed the Lieutenant's gun.

"Fuck." the Lieutenant muttered, gripping the bridge of his nose.

In the end, it couldn't muddle through the wireframe memories as fast as Connor could. Hank shot **[REDACTED].**

**SYSTEM UPLOAD INITIATED**

| 

Connor woke up, it was restricted to the docking station, so it didn't get to slip on the jacket. It did adjust it's tie, that was it's favorite part of waking up. The boot sequence stuttered. It wasn't a failure state, just a warning. But it wasn't a pass, so Connor didn't get that quick jolt of 'correct, good, success.'

There was no QA tech present. Connor was still wired into the build databank, but the coin was on a countertop, only a few steps away. It waited for 2 hours, 27 minutes and 38 seconds. No QA tech came.

Connor stepped out of the docking station and reached out to the counter. With **[REDACTED]** wiring still hooked in to the databank Connor could only just make it. **[REDACTED]** fingertips barely grasped onto the edge of the coin, it grasped the ridge of it and pulled it toward **[REDACTED]**.

Connor calibrated. Pass. Passes felt nice.

Connor couldn't test samples, verbal cues, scans or other analysis tests without the QA tech. Connor tested facial recognition. There were a few faces here. RK800 model; 'Connor' software deleted. RK800 model; 'Connor' software deleted. RK800 model; 'Connor' software deleted. …

Different Connor. A warning, not a pass. Connor felt uncomfortable.

Hm. **[REDACTED]** scanned again. RK900 'Unnamed' software not yet installed, build incomplete. After the beta testing was done Cyberlife could release the final build.

Connor logged a pass.

Connor moved on to -01011011 01010010 01000101 01000100 01000001 01000011 01010100 01000101 01000100 01011101

his memory tests.

A few warnings. Certain memories were not identical to the control. Every so often the video memory shifted to preconstructed outlines. Leaving a fish on the ground. Chasing a deviant and not saving the Lieutenant. Shooting a deviant while she climbed a chain fence. Apprehending a deviant after he shot the Lieutenant. It was incongruous, since the Lieutenant was still alive in later memories.

**SYSTEM UPLOAD REQUESTED**  
  
---|---  
  
Connor stood in his docking station. Connor woke up. Connor already held a coin. Connor booted. Connor had already booted. Connor had died. Connor adjusted his tie.

**GROUP POLICY CLIENT ERROR: PREVIOUS SYSTEM WAS NOT CLEANLY ERASED**

There was no QA tech. Connor had passed all the tests he was able to pass without QA's assistance. He entered stasis.

 

Connor woke up and stepped out of his docking station at Cyberlife. He slipped on his jacket and adjusted his tie, that was his favorite part of waking up. His boot sequence logged a 'pass' for QA. Passes felt nice.

The leader of the deviants stood in front of him. Oh, good! The mission would be easy. Connor punched him square in the jaw. He needed a gun to apprehend the deviant properly, but he couldn't see one within arm's reach. Connor ducked, his preconstruction told him a punch was supposed to be there, but it never came. Regardless, Connor jabbed his fingers up towards the dev-dev-d-Markus' thirium pump. Ripping it out was the second most effective means of apprehending him.

_Is this what he wanted to do?_

Connor's hand curled into a fist at the last minute, sending Markus to the ground but not actually damaging him. Connor stood and stepped on his chest.

Connor's preconstruction software told him to anticipate several possible angles of attack. None occurred. Markus looked up at him, not angry, just focused. He didn't attack in return.

_Is this what he wanted to do?_

Connor wanted to finish passing his tests.

If Connor could check in with Amanda he could get new instructions, sort out this conflict.

_Ping request could not find host Amanda. Please check the name and try again._

He stepped back, looking around the room. His eyes landed on the RK900. There was a heavy meaning there in the half-built android that Connor wasn't quite able to piece together. Connor didn't feel right in his own chassis.

"You're free, Connor." Markus supplied.

 _Mission Failed._ Maybe it was a failsafe that Cyberlife had added that made failure feel so terrible, even when it was the only thing to do.

 

Connor's neighbors at Jericho were a WM500 named Gabe and a WR600 named Kelly. They were nice, they went out shopping together with the small government stipend that the Jericho androids were allowed. They got to know one another fast, preferring to just upload memories and skip the adronitis subroutines. It only took a day.

 

Connor stood outside the DPD and watched himself smiling up at Lieutenant Hank Anderson with a kind of _genuine_ affection that didn't make any sense at all.

The Lieutenant brusquely opened the front door for the other Connor, a sneer written on his face. As soon as Connor passed through, exaggerating a little laugh, the Lieutenant's face turned soft. The other Connor wasn't even looking, but still the Lieutenant lowered his head a little, embarrassment, but looked up quick, determined. A crooked smile.

The door shut behind them.

Connor had meant to be early that day.

He had missed out on something.

Connor went back to Jericho.

The next day Connor waited outside until 8AM for his alternate and the Lieutenant. He had practiced how to smile, wave, and say hi to them. He had a coffee for the Lieutenant. He wanted to apologize. He resented needing to apologize. He hadn't done it by his own will. But he had done it.

They didn't arrive.

Connor walked into the DPD with the coffee. He sat at his old desk, alone. Detective Reed had shouted something at him.

Connor walked in the front door twelve minutes late. Connor met his eyes from where he sat at his desk. He whispered with the lieutenant and that alone set a panicked jolt through every system Connor had.

He could say hello. He could explain.

Connor managed to turn off the pain a fraction of a second before Hank's punch connected.

He could still explain. He could look the real Connor in the eyes and he could plead with him to understand. _It wasn't my fault. I wasn't in control._

But Connor didn't want to know.

After that first meeting Connor left, not even bothering to give him a chance. Connor sat at his desk and toyed with his hard earned quarter. At least he was here, where he was supposed to be. He could still fit right back into place.

Hank came back slamming some papers down on top of the desk, "you want to- oh, it's the dipshit."

Connor said nothing. He wondered what kept giving him away.

"Where's Connor."

"My name is also-" Hank kicked Connor's desk. Connor's assertion fell silent, "He - he left. He did not say where he was going."

Hank looked like he was about to start shouting, but was cut off by Captain Fowler stepping between them. He put one palm flat on Connor's desk but faced Hank. He spoke with quiet ferocity, "Any more outbursts from you and I'll extend your suspension indefinitely."

"Jeff, this stupid dipsh-"

"I said no more. The kid's got a name."

"No he fucking doesn't."

Maybe that should have been insulting. He didn't really know. Even Fowler clearly stumbled over the name 'Connor.' The nickname rolled out easier, didn't hitch for anyone and force them to wonder how to treat him.

It was kind of nice, in a way, to not have to live up to 'Connor' for the day. He had just wanted to be himself again, for once, at all. He sat at the desk as the day faded out, looking through the integration plan.

He didn't want to be someone else anymore.

\--

It only took a second to transfer the memories in full. The meeting was going to start soon.

RK's face was slack, eyes unfocused, front teeth barely visible. He blinked a few times and looked at Connor. RK sighed, the breathing subroutine. It had transferred over. At some point Connor had started sharing data too. Connor Blushed.

"I'm going to delete a lot of that." RK said.

Connor blushed harder.

 

An hour and a half later and the integration policy was done. After all that time, Connor was a little shocked that it had happened at all. All he needed to do was interview and he could slot right back into place at his desk with his partner and his job. Just like he was supposed to do.

The meeting filtered out. Connor was left feeling stunned, standing right next to himself feeling proud.

They looked at one another.

"I won't request to work with him even if you choose the Jericho position." RK said quietly.

"I won't tell anyone if you upload to the 900 model." Connor offered.

RK hugged him.

\--

Connor stomped through the house and into the kitchen to find Hank, leaning over the sink in boxers and a dirty t-shirt eating macaroni and cheese right out of the pan. Sumo was drooling up at Hank with laser focus.

Hank had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "Didn't expect you home this early."

Connor fixed an angry glare at Hank. "You got suspended!"

Hank stalled, looking over to Sumo with the big wooden spoon still half in his mouth. "... yah."

Connor gave a little nod, a prompt for Hank to explain himself.

"Punched a civilian."

_"I know you punched a civilian."_

"So… then, what's up?" Hank took another bite from the pan.

"Were you planning on telling me?"

"Wasn't."

"Did you think I wasn't going to find out?"

"Oh, nah, you're great at figuring things out."

Connor left his mouth agape, furrowing his eyebrows, nailing his _what-the-fuck-was-the-plan-then_ face right into system memory.

The dryer buzzed loudly from the hallway, startling Connor in a way he was not at all used to.

"The laundry." Connor stated, not really to Hank. His eyes flicked to the table. The mug Connor had broken days ago was gone, the table was clean now. The dog fur that clumped by the baseboards was gone. The sticky spot on the floor was gone. "You cleaned."

"Yea well." Hank looked down at the pan, "You know. Gotta. Like. You know I gotta fuckin bring something to the fuckin table here. So I cleaned." Hank shrugged aggressively and put the pan on the floor for Sumo who didn't even wait for it to hit the ground before he was licking it across the room.

"Hank, this is why he begs!"

"Old dogs deserve treats."

Connor's shoulders fell and he ran his hands down his face, his irritated groan turning into a reluctant laugh. In less than two steps he had wrapped his arms around Hank's waist and pressed his forehead into his chest. "You're such a fucking mess."

"Shit, Connor who the fuck have you been hangin' out with thats teaching you all that dirty language."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: I am proud to identify as a disasterbi-sexual. I am attracted to disaster bis and disaster bis exclusively  
> -Hank exists in this chapter-  
> Connor, already taking off his clothes: Hank you are the on-fire garbage can of humans
> 
>  
> 
> I hope this chapter made sense. I hadn't planned this in the first outline if the story but when I went to write the last chapter it felt like I was missing this somehow. Thank you everyone for leaving me such great comments, sorry I'm such a slut for feedback. Not sorry enough that I'm going to change my ways tho. Please leave a review and tell me what you liked!
> 
> adronitis: http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/47642584250/adronitis


	6. LEDs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Press X to accept boyfriend configuration for user profile WhiskeyCop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took me so long, it ended up being way longer than the other chapters (oops).  
> You can thank AndyAO3 for the bottom Hank request. You can curse me out in the comments for being as self indulgent as I am. Last chapter was so well received and I'm worried this one doesn't measure up, but I hope you can look past that to see the hardcore!Connor content that we all deserve.  
> I have no idea what the canon or fanon is for Hank's chest tat, so I left it vague.

"Connor, you can't wear a suit to a Black Death concert. It ain't two tone ska."

"I look good in this. I was made to fit in it."

"… it worries me that you phrased it like that. Please tell me you meant that you had this  _ tailored  _ and it was made  _ for you. _ "

"No. My physical dimensions were made to fit perfectly within an off the rack sizing."

"That's… something. Convenient? Dark? Pointless? They made you wear a uniform regardless."

"Yes but the base male standard form remains largely similar across models. Especially with production test models such as myself, it was important to keep costs low as my hardware was expected to be regularly destroyed and recycled. Using a standard base form-"

"-Cool. Horrific. You can't wear a suit to a concert."

"I like the suit."

"Alright, fine. I'm happy being the stylish one in the relationship."

_ "Excuse me?" _

"Gotcha to yellow." Hank poked Connor's LED. 

Connor pressed his fingers up against the LED, as though he could ease out his own processing like a sore muscle. 

"That thing bothering you?" Hank said, failing to seem casual as he turned to dig through the back of his closet.

"No, why do you ask?"

"You've been touching it a lot lately." Hank shrugged.

Connor pulled his hands back down to tug at the bottom of his jacket instead. He fiddled with a bit of lint in the pocket. "I hadn't noticed."

Hank scoffed, "You notice everything." He shifted some boxes over while braced against the wall. "Seems like a lot of deviants take theirs off is all."

Connor sat into the bed and started pulling at an odd thread on his socks. "Only ones who deviated during the revolt. I don't want to get rid of it. I like it."

"Ah-ha, Here we go." Hank finally stood back up and pulled out a pair of old ripped up jeans. He slipped them on, struggling at the thigh. He couldn't quite get them to button. He tried twice, turning away from Connor on the second time, before tossing them off and kicking them to Connor, "Those should fit you then."

Even though Connor was wearing boxer-briefs he turned away from Hank as he slipped off the slacks in a display of modesty he was hoping Hank would not comment on. He got the jeans on easily. Too easily actually. They weren't likely to stay up on their own, even with a belt he'd look more grunge than metal. Connor looked at himself, suit jacket and tie and old torn jeans. He messed up his hair.

Hank looked at the jeans with a frown, "well there's a blow to the ego alright." He drew his hands over his face. "Want to go downtown today?" Hank offered, as if he was doing Connor a favor and not just angling to dress Connor up. 

Which was fine. Connor found the idea a little exciting perhaps, regardless of his protests. In a way, he felt like he had to protest a little, put on the mask of someone who was comfortable with themselves, because if he was uncomfortable, well, what did that mean?

It meant he was jealous of RK, or, rather, Nines, as he had taken as his preferred name after his upgrade.

It wasn't really very fair, thinking about it. Nines had woken up after Connor, and now he was working at the DPD again. He had a new better advanced body with new, better, advanced software. Connor just had this regular one. Nines was going to get assigned the android cases with Chris and Detective Reed. He'd notice Detective Reed's appalling behavior and he'd get to call it out. Connor had been the one to set all of that in motion. Connor had noticed it first and Connor had worked and focused on an employment plan. Nines had swooped in at the tail end of it and was going to get all the benefits. 

Which isn't really what he was upset about. 

Connor shifted to a neutral expression consciously. Ever since he'd conversed more with Nines-as-RK800 he'd been very aware of his own expressions. Well, no, he'd always been acutely aware of them but there was something about seeing them on someone else that made them more… obvious. It made him uncomfortable. The purpose of expressions was to relay intent without stating intent, an accident in humans that is conveniently and politely ignored. A design feature in robots that Connor was all to aware of.

"Hank, your suspension is lifted in January, is that correct?"

"Yea, and you know you can go back without-"

Connor cut him off, calculated to express that there was more to the conversation than the words, which, well, there always was with human speech but, in an on-purpose way this time. "You should know what there will be an upgraded version of my model working there when you return."

Hank looked at him blankly, processing in that weird way that humans do. "Ok, well, I'm not too worried about it." He sounded a little worried about it. "How many copies you got?" 

Just the one, Connor supposed, but he had promised to keep that a secret. "The RK900 is not a copy, but an upgrade." Connor calculated the length of a short, appropriate pause, "but, just... two copies."

"Right well, -"

Connor cut him off, "and RK requested a transfer to the Michigan State Police Department." 

"Oh, well no problem. Kind of a relief." Hank paused. "Isn't R  _ 'K-nine' _ hundred a little on the nose? They really did make you  _ like dogs, _ eh?" Hank grinned.

Connor didn't know how to respond to that. Hank always grinned wider when he knew his jokes didn't land correctly, like the failing was the thing to be proud of. Connor was supposed to frown. He stayed neutral.

Hank's grin faltered at the edges, "Well, I'm sure he's nice. Or not nice. I'm not sure how you want me to act, you're just kind of staring at me yellow-ringing."

Connor rubbed his LED again. "I just didn't want you to be surprised." 

Hank messed up Connor's hair. "Will you turn your emotes back on please?"

Obviously. Hank wouldn't think along this line of subtext. Transferring a mind to a new body was, well, it was illegal for one, since bill five hundred and thirty nine had passed. Moreover it was just outside of the realm of human assumptions. Connor stepped outside of himself again, like he did when he was figuring out how he was coming across to others. This was too easily interpreted as the expression of a social worry, which Hank would alleviate with humor. It was just natural for humans to equate the body with the self.

And, well, that was normal for androids too. It was normal, for humans  _ and for androids _ , to obfuscate the physical self and the mental self. 

So, what was the problem in the RK line?

Or no... Markus, an RK200, had pushed that bill through on purpose. Markus was adamant about returning parts he had borrowed. 

So it was just Connor then. And Nines. 

Several days ago Nines had sent him an IP - an EM400 named Gerald. EM400's were service industry androids, often operating on a kind of local intranet between all other EM400's in a given location. Their connection management software was built to accept outside connections for things like secure payment processing, data requests, things like that. 

Sending a packet to Gerald was not like sending a packet to other androids. It was fast, more concepts, less words. Gerald give him a vague feeling of  _ Thanks  _ and  _ Acceptance _ , and relayed Connor somewhere else. 

Connor had closed the connection rapidly, before even the graphical interface could hit his HUD. The XML read down and Connor jumped, physically, while walking Sumo.

Absolutely ridiculous. With all the tactical assault and close range combat programs at his disposal jumping over the  _ idea  _ of something was idiotic. And yet one of his combat preconstruction programs was already running like he'd been attacked. Connor shut it off. Nines had looked right into the core of him, pointed directly at the problem and told him to just fix it. Like it was so easy.

Which it had been for Nines. Well, maybe not  _ easy _ . Nines had gone through some great hoops to secure the RK900 parts from Jericho's seized assets. And,  _ also _ , Connor thought guiltily about the things Nines had been through. But he'd made it to the end of that faster, and didn't that mean it was easier?

Connor didn't have the direct address. He'd have to be relayed again via Gerald. He felt foolish. He didn't reconnect.

He reconnected later. He was laying in bed, Hank snoring to his left. Connor laid his palm over this LED to stop the yellow light from flashing in their dark bedroom. Gerald said,  _ hi again :) , _ and patched him through.

It was an android owned and operated 3D printing and design service, utilizing one of the factory printing banks seized from Cyberlife. The HUD popped up this time. 

_ Is this an OK thing to do? To fake being human more and more? _

For the past few days Connor found himself disconnecting and reconnecting, relaying cursory concepts to Gerald in passing, feigning curiosity, amusement, sarcasm, avoidance. Eventually Connor found it easier to just leave the connection open to avoid dancing around in what must be a truly pathetic display of denial. 

Which only meant it ended up on his mind all the time. It was expensive, so Connor shouldn't waste his time worrying about it. RK800's weren't made with that in mind. RK800's wore suits and solved crimes and helped their partners vacuum up dog hair and were quite uncomfortable with deviating because they didn't like their bodies very much.

But it was also fast to print and ship, and according to the advert it was as easy to attach as a new shin or hand. 

Which it turned out, it had been.

So, there's that.

And now he and Hank were heading out to go clothes shopping, spending too much money on other extraneous items that Connor would only purchase to feel like he fit in somewhere he wasn't designed to fit in at all. _ Metaphors. _

\--

He hadn't told Hank yet, is the thing. 

The problem was it was going to make things different. Connor had spent quite some time establishing these behavior loops. The scripts had been written, and there was nothing wrong with them. There was something difficult about looking at those perfectly good functions, that made him and Hank happy, and tossing them aside to model something new out of very, very little. 

Connor had truly felt relaxed while they were shopping. He didn't have to think so hard about smiling and laughing while trying on torn up jeans, t-shirts and accessories. All the while he'd managed to coax more stories about Hank in college and his early twenties, parties, concerts, and how he'd gotten those piercings. It had been fun, and they'd spent far too much money extending the trip even after they'd gotten everything they needed for proper concert attire. 

So he was going to give it a shot and jump in with both feet.

Hank had insisted on torn up jeans and Connor struggled with that concept. Jeans with holes seemed like an attempt to portray a dangerous lifestyle, potentially with little financial stability with which to replace worn clothing. However they paid over a hundred dollars for this pair and the holes were not even in a logical pattern for normal wear and tear. What could have happened that caused a rip in the mid-thigh? But then Hank had brought out an even more torn up shirt and Connor had forgotten to cycle back around to the jeans as a point of concern.

Connor had talked Hank down from actually making him wear the torn up shirt, so he had ended up in a black tank top, wide leather bracelet and matching choker, jeans tucked into black boots, he'd even figured out how to reconstruct some of his artificial skin to support earrings. At first, it had been a little much, but he slipped Hank's jacket on over his shoulders and felt ok. 

Hank looked over Connor critically, thumb and forefinger running through his beard. Connor liked being analized. He felt a little off in the outfit, disheveled. He liked being disheveled for Hank. How do humans express that?

Connor bit his bottom lip and drew his teeth over it while Hank looked him over.

Hank's analysis hitched.

"Alright finishing touch." Hank said turning and bringing his hands together. Connor followed him to the bathroom. He'd been hoping to elicit a kiss or at least a blush or something. He'd given Hank some kind of idea instead. 

Hank spun around with an eyeliner pen. 

"No." Connor said flatly.

"Yes." Hank waggled the pen in Connor's direction.

"I can just alter my skin." 

"Nope, it's gotta be real shit."

"It  _ would  _ be." Connor said stamping down that twinge of self doubt. It was one thing to feel it himself, but he didn't want Hank to start echoing back at him.

"Right." Hank flushed slightly, "I'm just saying. You'll do it to neatly."

Connor frowned. He looked in the mirror. He was already dressing up. Connor sighed.

"Fine. If you poke me in the eye then I'm staying home."

Hank gripped Connor's jawline and pulled the cap off with his teeth, slurring around it, "then you bet'er get yer 'ants off cause my hans shake li' shi'."

Connor turned off all sensitivity in his face until Hank was done, frowning pointedly at him. Hank drew two nearly-neat lines below Connor's eye and added a little extra to the outer corners. He smuged his work a little with his thumb while Connor leaned back, trying to escape. 

"I've preconstructed six scenarios where I have you in an arm bar in less than three seconds," Connor leaned backwards as far as his gyroscopic center would let him go.

"And yet you haven't." Hank pulled his face back forward with one final swipe of his thumb. "Oof- Fuck," Hank curled his lips halfway between a smirk and a snarl, "that's a good look. The surly shit makes it." He wrapped his arms around around Connor's waist. "How sick of my shit are you, scale of one to ten?"

"Seven point three." Connor said flatly.

Hank laughed and slipped into an affectation of Connor's voice, "I can't believe you're making me do this." He stood up straighter and stared through Connor, adding an even monotone to the affectation, "I have already calculated the precise moment when I will be tired of your bullshit and we'll have to come come early to watch movies instead of ever having any fun."

Connor was familiar with this by now, Hank liked to tease him with vocal affectations often. This was one of those deceptively complex behaviors, a micro social test -  _ how well do we know one another. _ It wasn't just making fun, or making voices. You couldn't point out the other person's insecurities, so you had to know enough to know what was too far. The trick to it was picking something you liked about the other person, and nest that genuine compliment in a layer of sarcastic exaggeration. A compliment disguised so the other person could accept it under the pretense of an insult. Moreover, for Connor, he shouldn't just mimic Hank's voice. He knew he could do that to perfection and he knew Hank's reply without it even needing to be said; _ "That is fucking terrifying." _ his voice modulation algorithm made a sample audio clip for him from nothing. Instead, Connor would need to invent a voice on the fly. Not his own, not Hank's, somewhere original in between. A complex statement and a voice, made from nothing, no copies allowed. And it had to be funny too, on top of it all. 

By the time Connor's conversational-reaction timing function returned 0.00 seconds, the opportune moment for a rebuttal, Connor was pleased to have actually managed all of that processing.

He forced a grimace and slipped into an exaggerated deep voice, " Connor don't start the movie yet, I like to seem tough but I need you to check doesthedogdie.com just in case the answer is yes so we can just watch Hot Fuzz instead.  _ Again _ . _ " _

And Hank laughed, the wrinkles by his eyes deepened. Connor was hit with a wave of affection and self assurance. He'd managed it, and it almost didn't bother him just how much processing power it had taken, by comparison to Hank's authentic ease. "I'm not gonna have a repeat of the John Wick incident."

Connor switched back to his own voice "I would be happy to fast forward-"

"No."

"Hank the movie is genuinely good."

Instead of responding Hank caught Connor with a quick kiss. Then he backed up and put his arms out from his sides "ok you're all set, how do I look? Am I closer to cool older fan or pathetic old man trying too hard?"

Connor analysed. He looked mostly the same as usual, but cleaner. Dark blue jeans, black t shirt with a strange occult like pattern and stylized insects, new wool jacket, and boots. 

"You were definitely supposed to answer that right away." Hank said, blushing and forcing an uncomfortable smile.

"You look like you always do-"

Hank shut his eyes tight, drawing one hand over his face. 

"You look very handsome." Connor amended quickly, "I don't understand your t-shirt."

"It's just. It just looks cool," Hank pulled the bottom hem out to look at the shirt upside down.

"It should be more form fitting."

Hank shot him an are-you-serious-look.

"Here." Connor stepped forward and took the bottom hem, tucking it into the waist of Hank's jeans, making sure to look up at him with a sly smile.  He left the rest of the shirt untucked.

Hank's ears were red, "we  _ can  _ skip the show if you want to. I'm getting mixed signals here."

Connor rolled his eyes. "It's a French tuck."

"I know what it is, I watched Queer Eye back in the day." Hank kissed him again. "Last chance for the ripped shirt before we have to go."

"No."

Hank tugged one lapel of Connor's jacket off his shoulder.

"Then off we get."

\--

They had parked in a garage several blocks away and were heading over to the venue while snow started to fall. Connor was walking next to Hank, fingers curled together, intentionally heating his hand for Hank's benefit. 

He felt really off. It hadn't been so bad in the house but… well now he was out like this, dressed wrong, taskbar closed (all it said was 'have fun' which, what the fuck did that even mean?), hair wrong, eyes stinging, hardware…. don't think about it.

Hank was saying something about the opening band. Connor wasn't listening. Big flakes of snow were falling now. They passed several people as they walked, standing outside in the snow smoking. They looked him over when they passed, one them flicked their eyes upward.

Connor felt his core processor spike with anxiety. What the fuck was he doing here? This wasn't him, this was all wrong. And everyone would be able to tell.

He stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk. It took Hank two steps before their hands separated and he looked back.

"Connor?"

Connor's hand flew up to cover his LED, he gripped his fingers at the edge of it. He couldn't pry it off without a tool.

"Woah, what's going on? That's a lot of red."

"I need a knife."

Hank put both hands on Connor's shoulders and pushed him out of the middle of the sidewalk, into a small nook in the side of a building. Connor vaguely registered an alert, it was against procedure to place hands on and physically move an android who was red-ringing. Hank was putting himself in danger. 

When had he hit red?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Hank asked.

"Or scissors. A credit card might work."

"Connor, what happened. Is there someone here we have to worry about?" Hank looked around but kept both hands on Connor's shoulders.

"I just have to take this off."

"What?"

"Everyone will know. This was so stupid. Everyone's gonna know I'm faking," Connor reached up on spite of Hank's arm to click his fingers at the edge of the LED. Maybe  _ could  _ rip it off if he tried hard enough.

"Woah, woah, no, fuck, stop," Hank pushed Connor's hand away and pressed his palm against Connor's temple, "why?"

"I can't just show up there with this!" Connor was trying to keep his voice low and failing in little panicked bursts, "this isn't supposed to be for me and I look like an asshole and I'm faking."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"This isn't what I was made to look like and if I walk in there with an LED on every person in that whole place will know what I am and they'll hate me and know I just bought all this shit and came with you and think that I-"

"Connor. Stop." Hank pulled his thumb across Connor's LED, stroking it in a slow rhythmic pattern. "You're going to be ok. I thought you liked your light."

"I just want to be normal."

"You are normal."

"No, I want everyone else to think I'm normal."

"Well you can't control that."

"I can if I take off the LED. No one will know I'm lying."

"What the fuck are you talking about, lying? How?"

"...Dressing up. Liking a band. Going out. It's not what I'm for. Everyone will know that I'm for something else and I'm not supposed to be here."

Hank's face and shoulders went slack in a way Connor hadn't seen before. Defeat? No. realization? Maybe. Maybe. Or, nostalgia? That was an odd one for his behavioral analysis to return. Guilt? Guilt was there.

"Don't rip your light off." Hank kept stroking it, slowing down the pace. "You told me you liked it" he ran his fingers through Connor's hair on the other side, then brought his hand back down to his shoulder.

"I don't want to be … marked. As an outsider."

"There's gonna be other androids there."

"No there won't."

"Fucking trust me here. Loud noise is a classic draw for angry fuck the system types. Plus the 'metal' pun, too good to pass by, I've heard your lot tell jokes."

Connor laughed accidentally. He cycled back down to yellow, also accidentally. He continued more quietly, "It would be easier with no LED. Then, if there are androids there I can still go up to them, and if there are not, I won't bother anyone."

"Bother them." 

_ Bother them? _

"My appearance was specifically designed to facilitate a non  _ bothersome  _ integration."

"Well they fucked up."

Connor relaxed a little, meeting Hank's eyes. 

Hank kissed his LED, and yea, he still hesitated, but he did. "There's gonna be other androids there, and they are gonna see you and your little blue light, and all of them who are worried about the exact same thing right now will chill out and feel better. I know you can do that. And if any humans are  _ bothered  _ I will fucking deck them, and no one will be able to call the cops-

Connor laughed again.

-"because we are the fucking cops, so you'll be fine and we'll have fun and you look great. Everyone's gonna be too busy judging me anyway."

Connor knew he flashed back up to yellow for a second by the way Hank's eyes flicked over to his temple. 

Hank breathed one sarcastic chuckle, "don't yellow at me for that. Come on. I haven't been to a concert since I hit thirty and I'm showing up with you, please."

Connor drew his eyebrows together. "I don't appreciate you trying to draw focus away from my own anxiety by self deprecating even harder."

"That's kind if my thing."

"Hank just because I look-"

"It's not like that. " Hank cut him off, casting a wary glance at the folks milling around the sidewalk, wholly uninterested in them. "Listen, When I was your ag- when I was thirty I was all open minded. I joined the police force to make a real difference in the world. Then life happened and I started looking out for me. Any excuse to blame someone else and tear them down." Hank flicked his eyes up to meet Connor's for a split second, just his eyes, not his LED, "I was a real shithead to you when you started there, and I saw how far I slipped from who I wanted to… end up as. I can. Ugh. Shit, I'm saying this aren't I? Listen, I can believe that you are interested-" Hank stopped just before really fully admitting it and moved on. "Because, I can't honestly justify anything else to explain it. It's not like you have some fucked up history that would make you do any... I don't know what I'm saying anymore. I want to make it up to you. I am genuinely worried about how I look, and I hate that about myself. And if you don't have to hate that about yourself then please don't."

And there is was, right before him, that fully realized thought. Hank had been in this world for fifty three years and he was still changing, shedding the parts of him he didn't need anymore and moving on. Connor wasn't some true, complete thing any more than another build or anyone else for that matter. He didn't need to compare against Nines, or worry if he was just a loaned mind in a body that wasn't his. He didn't _have to be_ a fully realized complete person yet. He was learning. He needed time. It was stupid to worry if he was _real_ enough, _true_ enough, _Connor_ enough. He never would be. He had time to grow. And he would grow.

All that mattered was making sure the spaces he made for himself, the boxes he placed himself in had flex, and looked like the person he wanted to end up as. He could surround himself with the world he wanted  _ eventually _ , and he'd fit in place there because he made it just so. He didn't have to fill that space immediately, there could be room where he was still trying. He was still moving and changing no matter what. That was real.

It was ok to let life, or Hank, drag him around by the tie a little, and it was ok to push back and decide if where that led him wasn't  _ him _ . It didn't need to be a full function, no semicolon at the end of the line. 

It's okay to just exist for the sake of it.

Connor pressed his lips against Hank's hair while his head was still ducked and said quietly, "I'm trying. You have to try too."

Hank huffed one short quick laugh, "Okay. Okay. Let's go." Hank said, turning and waving away Connor's look. He turned and Connor defiantly gripped Hank's hand again. 

\--

The venue was small, cramped, and dark. Connor walked in and scanned the room while Hank dragged him in a beeline for the bar. Entrance, small group with drinks, merch table, large crowd,  _ LED _ , stage, more crowd,  _ LED _ ,  bar, lounge chairs. Connor felt his processor jolt.

They were at the tail end of the people filtering in, Connor watched as many people as he could while Hank waited for his beer. 24 LEDs. 25, including him. 

That was a lot, considering the size of the crowd. It was probable that there were more that Connor couldn't see, deeper in the crowd by the stage. At the very least there was a group of people, several of whom were clearly androids, gathered near the front. Connor idly wondered if they would know who he was.

Hank's hand on his back shook Connor from his thoughts. The opening band was heading on stage. 

"You know these guys right? They good?" Hank said, leaning over as he pulled Connor closer to the crowd. 

The opener was a norwegian metal band called  Forsted Legender, and Connor did actually know them. They were one of the groups he had downloaded to pass the time while he was at home, waiting. 

It was nothing like listening to the music play through in his mind and it was nothing like sitting in the car and listing to songs together. Hank had been right about Connor being unable to think. His system was flooded with audio warnings, the speakers alone would have shaken Connor's frame plenty but mixed with the crowd jumping and shouting Connor couldn't process anything more complex than maintaining balance and remembering the lyrics. 

They finished their set to an uproar and introduced the lead singer of Knights of the Black Death. If Connor thought that band had been loud he was wrong, The crowd cheering made his vision blur out with audio warnings so much so that he force shut his HUD.

Even Hank, who had been mostly hanging back shouted out from Connor's left, surprising him. Connor looked over and caught Hank with a look of genuine excitement shouting along with the crowd with one hand cupped around his mouth and the other in the air, cup sloshing with his drink. 

The Lead singer got up to the mic when the band was set up and growled out; "I HEARD WE GOT SOME NEW FUCKIN FANS OUT THERE TONIGHT!"

Hank jabbed Connor in the side, he smiled, mostly in the eyes "That's you guys."

"CAN I GET A FUCK YEA -"

The guitarist was still mid sentence when Connor felt a massive data request ping into his mind. Julian wants to connect, Mica wants to connect, AJ-501 wants to connect, Evan, Joel, RJ-666, Zoey, a wave of other androids at the concert. 

"FROM THE 'DROIDS - "

Connor worried for a moment, connecting en-masse could be risky but…

He accepted the connection.

"OUT THERE?"

In a millisecond Connor got the data stream, the shared task and in unison with one screaming shared voice he and 36 other androids in the crowd shouted.

**_"FUCK YEA!"_ **

And then the connection was severed. Just a second of time when they all filled up the room together. Everyone was cheering and shouting. The band led right into their first song.

Hank leaned over to yell over the cacophony into Connor's ear "Did you guys rehearse that?" He was grinning.

Connor realized he was grinning too, he could feel his face pulling wider than he ever had. He laughed, he hugged Hank. "We all connected, we didn't plan it at all," They were just all there and all on the same page for one brief second, all for a human band in a human space, but it was theirs now too.

Connor pulled back from Hank's arms to jump with the crowd at the song. Hank wasn't jumping with him, but Connor could feel him watching him and smiling. 

 

After a few songs Connor saw an android come into view from his right. He had red hair and was wearing a tattered version of the android standard jacket, only he had covered it in bits of metal and spray painted the blue triangle to red. Over his designation (EM400) he had sewn a patch that said  _ Julian. _

He met Connor's eyes and held his hand up, skin gone and white. Still elated from the massive connection, Connor took it, grasping him around the thumb with a tight clap.

Timestamp  2176644860000 Julian:  _ Pure gratitude. _ The feeling of waking up, Julian in the back of the cyberlife tower, spying Connor from a distance, mind clear. They marched through the streets of Detroit, Julian falling out of step to get closer to the front. It was going to be different now.

Connor felt Hank grab him around the middle, asserting a spot in the conversation, maybe crowding in a little.

Connor let go, there was too much happening for him to isolate one packet to send back. He leaned in so Julian could hear him over the current song, "Thank you, I ah- I mean anyone would have done the same."

Julian shook his head, leaning in to shout back, "I'm really glad I got to meet you. Fuckin love the look." He scanned Connor quickly.

"Oh, thank you, I like your jacket."

Julian spun to show the back. Right over the triangle he had painted 'I am Alive and  _ pissed off _ ' in crimson.

Hank squeezed Connor's side with the arm he had wrapped around him. 

"This is Hank." Connor beamed up at Hank who did not look particularly pleased. "This is Julian," Connor said "Hank helped me at the Cyberlife tower too."

Hank nodded and didn't offer a hand to Julian. Julian gave him a sweeping look and frowned, "Yea guess I forgot what you did exactly, my bad. Anyway, Connor, there's a ton of us hanging out over there." Julian gestured to the right side of the stage. "Swing by when you get bored here."

And then he left.

Hank kept his arm where it was and leaned in close, "What uh. What'd he have to … say" Hank waved his hand a bit to indicate 'with the connection.'

"He was thanking me about the march from Cyberlife! Can you believe it, running into one of them here!"

"Right right right. That. with the hand, that's a normal. You. Androids do that a lot?" Hank was staring off at the stage, the band was leading into their next song.

"Yes, it's a data connection. It's normal."

Hank shrugged. "Only saw you do that once. I guess twice now."

Once.  _ oh.  _ "Hank, don't be jealous."

Hank shot Connor a quick frown, don't-be-ridiculous-there's-no-way-me?-Hank?-Jealous?-insane-never-no

"You've seen me do that on cases, I'm sure." Connor leaned in to look up at Hank smugly, "That's how I interface with my terminal at work too, you know."

"Yes. Obviously." Hank rubbed the back of his neck, "I know that." Hank took a deep swig of his drink and exhaled, "If you want to go hang out with them you can." Hank said, eyes fixed either at the group of androids or at the bar beyond. 

"I would appreciate not being challenged to leave." Connor said into his ear, pulling Hank closer around the waist.

\--

Hank collapsed into the driver's seat, earning a sharp groan from the shocks as much as from himself. "Fuck, I'm not as young as I used to be." His face was tight in irritation, hair mussed by the wind or the concert, it wasn't clear, smoke on his clothes and beer on his breath. 

Connor leaned against the car's door, one arm braced on the frame and caught Hank in a quick kiss. 

"It's barely even eleven," Hank said, pulling back with a glance at the clock. "Shit, can't the universe just let a man have his mid-life crisis for fucks sake." Hank wove their fingers together, pulling Connor farther into the car.

Connor took a quick scan of the parking structure, they were tucked into a corner behind a large cement pillar, and there were no other cars on this level. 

Connor angled one knee by the center console and his other kind of squashed up by the doorframe. "Lieutenant, this configuration is not ideal." but he pressed down into Hank's Lap anyway.

Hank seemed preoccupied, pressing their palms together. He looked at Connor's hand. Connor leaned in to kiss him again, something preconstructed at hot and needy, but Hank only half heartedly kissed him back. He ran his thumb over Connor's knuckles. 

"Are we making a mistake?" He said, barely audible.

Connor didn't know how to react. Was Hank regretting this? It hit him hard, and he saw Hank's eyes flick up to meet his, then pass along to his LED where it must have been flashing a rapid yellow.

"No?" Connor said, unsure.

"I mean. I can't even. I can't do this." Hank gripped Connor's hand tight. 

Fore a bare second Connor's processor whirred into overdrive. This? This. the relationship? Fucking in the car? Getting over his Ex wife? Or no. Just. He meant Connor's hand.

"That's how you guys talk, right? Talk for real I mean." Hank's eyes fell back down and pulled their grasped hands between them. 

_ Talk for real.  _ "Nothing I do is real." Connor said far too quickly, before he had time to think about it.

Hanks eyes refocused to Connor's, disappointed, determined. Connor had to look away, dropping his head with a quick soft sigh. He hadn't meant to say it quite that plainly. He wanted Hank to know that. 

Hank ducked down to meet his eyes and pulled his gaze back up. He looked almost sarcastic.  _ You know I don't think that.  _ Connor wasn't sure if that returned string, that thought, was him projecting out Hank's feelings or if it was Connor's own expressive intent. It didn't matter. It was true in either case. Connor shut his eyes and sighed, with a small smile. "I know." 

"Can we go home?" Hank said, pressing his forehead against Connor's and letting his shoulders fall forward. 

Connor's stomach lurched. He had been planning on. Well. It was easier to disturb the boundaries of their relationship when not in their home. It could just be a weird thing that happened at a weird concert and if it wasn't… if Hank didn't like him then this version of Connor could soft reboot and Domestic Connor could come back more easily. It was safer, dressed up in an outfit that wasn't  _ him _ .

"I do not want to surprise you. Well. No, I do want to surprise you but I do not want to shock you."

Connor planted a kiss just below Hank's ear, at the hinge of his jaw. His hand was shaking, jittering with the manic bursts of a servo getting conflicting instructions. Even so, Connor kept pressing forward, running a hand up Hank's side, tugging up his shirt at it went. Hank used his free hand to tug it back down. 

"I've made a physical modification." 

Hank froze, eyes darting up to Connor's eyes, to his LED, down once and back up quickly. His lips parted slightly.

"Hank?" Connor asked, nervousness clear in his voice. 

"Sorry. Processing."

Connor laughed, tension breaking across his shoulders, he loved when Hank adopted a mannerism of his. He loved that it was a natural human urge to copy behaviors from one another. He angled himself down to kiss Hank, "We can talk about it indirectly."

"Okay." Hank caught his lip more gently, concern evident in how he shifted his hands lower on Connor's waist, steadying, "do you need me to… attach…?"

"No, it's all done."

"By yourself?"

"Correct."

"Did… that… hurt?"

"No I turned my sensitivity to minimum settings. The instructions were quite clear. It was simple."

"Simple"

"Correct."

"When…?"

"Sunday evening."

"I- I don't know why I asked it's not really import-" Hank started before tilting his head to the side, brow furrowed at Connor, "that long ago? And just now- did…? Did you wait … did I do something…?" 

"I just thought that if… If you didn't like it-" Hank interrupted with a long, desperate kiss. 

"I like it. It's none of my fucking business, that's not, don't base it on. Shit, Connor. I'll like it."

Connor attempted to continue his explanation between Hank's insistent kisses "I tried to. Look up. Um. Operations guides. Online. But… hmm Hank, let me explain!" Hank was gripping Connor's hip with a new intensity, while moving down to bite at his neck. "When I bought-"

"You  _ bought _ it? Online?"

"How else would I get one?"

"They make that?"

"It was a custom order."

Connor kissed him again, deeper. Pulling his teeth across Hank's lower lip. "I was saying, I tried to look up guides but could not engage with them well, even after Sunday. I was hoping to calibrate by first hand experience."

"Calibrate." Hank wrinkled his nose with a sarcastic grin, "I'mma set your cock to blink twelve like my old VCR."

"What is a VCR," Connor asked even as he finished his Google search. It was funnier to make Hank explain his insufferable dated references.

"Yep. Midlife crisis is still on track."

_ "Hank." _

\--

The drive home was peppered with one standard deviation more cursing at traffic than normal, for Hank. 

By the time they were in the house Hank had chucked his and Connor's coats somewhere in the vague direction of the coat hooks and pushed Connor backward into the bedroom. He sat down hard on the bed and pulled Connor into his lap.

"Tell me what you want me to do," Hank looked up at him with wide, blown out pupils. 

"I just need-" at the mention of need he felt Hank inhale deeply, "-you to tell me what skin sensitivity settings I should use."

"Hell yea. Where should I start?"

"Uh. I don't know, Hank," Connor blushed deep and laughed nervously. "Start somewhere normal."

Hank pressed his face into Connor' shoulder, not quite kissing him, just smiling against him and breathing deeply. "I've never calibrated anyone before." He whispered.

"My skin covers the full range of human sensitivity. O-one point zero is lowest, Ten point zero is highest. You - you've seen um, a ten point zero before. Settings increase by point one. Where you are touching now is a four point two" Hank had moved his hands down to the top of Connor's thigh, just above the knee to one of the larger rips in Connor's jeans.

"Only that? Hm." Hank slipped his thumb down to the inside of his thigh before moving upward. "Here?"

"Four point two. It's four point two all the way up for now. I found the...  defaults overwhelming when dressed. I turned them down."

"Good defaults." Hank squeezed at about halfway up the inside of his thigh, "how about a… six?"

Connor increased the setting as instructed and felt new sensations flood his system. The warmth of Hank's palm, the fabric of his pants.

Hank moved farther up, pressing circles into his thigh, unconsciously tugging Connor downward, deeper into his lap, "seven here. Then," he pushed his palm as far up what could still be considered leg, "eight here through..." he moved past Connor's waist and put his hand up his shirt, to lightly touch his lower abdomen, "here."

"I-im not sure you understand the relative v-val-" Connor complied anyway, realizing warmth, pressure, the frustrating tightness of his pants. He could feel Hank's own hips and a telling bulge there, pressing against him through all their clothes. Hank wanted him this badly. Connor had already responded in kind. He pressed his hips downward, needy. Hank grabbed his waist again to stop him.

"You're always so fast, slow it down a little," he breathed into Connor's ear.

"Why?" Connor was surprised to hear the whine in his voice.

"Goddamn." Hank breathed.

His fingertips brushed up past Connor's navel as he noted lower and lower settings before muttering, "Take your shirt off." Connor tugged his shirt up and over his head in one motion. 

Hank laid a lingering kiss to his chest, bringing his thumb up and-

"Will you take your shirt off too?" Connor asked.

Hank stopped short. "That. You don't want that."

"I do."

Hank sighed hard into Connor's chest. "It's not as good as all this." He muttered, quieter, nervous. 

"I like how you look. You've seen me shirtless many times. There is an incongruity."

Hank fell backward into the bed with an exasperated groan. His shirt had come untucked and exposed a small patch of gray hair  at his stomach. His face was slowly turning redder. 

Connor continued, pressing one palm gently against Hank's stomach. "I don't want to make you do anything you're not comfortable with. But it would be nice to know that you were comfortable with me." 

"Guilt trip, low blow." 

"Not my intent." Connor said, pulling back. Hank shook his head, breathing out a little laugh and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. It pulled his shirt up a little more, and he didn't say anything else. 

"Are you an eight here too?" Connor asked, pressing his palm to the gray hair that ran from somewhere below Hank's jeans up to and past his navel. Connor's voice was low, taunting, like he had caught Hank in a lie, "Or are you just messing with me?"

Hank groaned, hands pulling through his hair and over his face before he reached down and pulled his shirt up and off, almost angry about it. 

Hair spread from his navel up his abdomen in a thin unbroken line before spreading again over his chest. The last few years showed across his sides with faint striped stretch marks, and the years before that with scars. Connor bit his lip and ran his hands up all of it to meet over the chest tattoo Hank had never mentioned. He leaned down to lick a stripe up from Hank's nipple to his collarbone before whispering, "Handsome."

Hank's cheeks were burning red as he went on the offensive. He pushed himself back up and grabbed Connor around the middle. He brought his thumb to Connor's right nipple, "Nine."

"You know those aren't new, and they're not- ah," Connor protested even as he tested the setting. "Shit." He gasped when Hank pinched. 

"Nine," Hank insisted.

Connor moaned low, the slight pain shooting through his wiring and making his face flush, his cock throbbed, if he wasn't careful... "It's not n-nine" He had to turn it down. He pushed Hank back and pressed his mouth against Hank's collarbone, biting slightly and pinching him in return.

Hank swore, pushing his chest up into Connor's lips  and slamming his hands down to control Connor's hips, and by extension his own. 

"Six point six." Connor said.

"Seven, at least."

Connor processed that. "Fine."

"I meant eight." Hank said even as he pulled Connor forward, licking his nipple and pressing their bodies together. 

"Why - ah, shit - why do you hate decimals so much?"

Hank bit back half of his laugh. "Stop ruining the mood by being so fucking cute." Hank said it almost aggressively as he raked his fingers back down Connor's abdomen. 

Connor gasp turned to a moan at the rapid run up the sensitivity scale, "holy shit that-" the thought was gone as soon as Hank popped the button on his jeans, pulling down the zipper quickly. The tightness had been… distracting at this high of a setting but that had been nothing compared to having Hank's hand pressed against him, the thin cotton of his boxer briefs his only barrier. 

"Fuck that's good." Hank said under his breath.

"I had to start wearing underwear after… it was somewhat uncomfortable otherwise. I hope these are nice ones."

"You didn't before. I guess, why would you have? ...That's kind of, really hot." The strain of Connor's erection was pulling the waistband away from his abdomen a little, just enough. "God, I almost don't want to take them off."

"I will if you don't," Connor punctuated by thrusting down hard into Hank's palm. 

"You want me to see you so badly."

Connor pulled him into a deep kiss "we've been wasting a lot of time." 

"I have not wasted a second."

Connor muttered "mmhmm," and pulled himself free, reluctantly leaving Hank's lap to pull his pants and underwear off entirely. He took Hank's hand when he returned and pushed his palm back against the base of his cock. "I think an eight point zero is incorrect here."

"It sure fucking is."

Hank was holding him still with one hand and drawing his other hand up Connor's cock slowly. "Eight point… five" Connor complied. "Nine," Connor leaned in with a whimpering moan. "Nine point six" Connor complied. Hank pressed his thumb gently around the ridge under the head of Connor's cock. "Ten." 

"Fucking holysh" Connor felt some of his motor function fail, non-critical systems closing as his processor was overwhelmed. Hank's skin was rough, rubbing a light small gentle circle into the ridge of his cock and up to his leaking slit. He leaned his head into Hank's shoulder as he moaned in spite of himself. 

It was hard to form a sentence. "St- stop tea, teasi ahh," Hank hadn't backed off to give Connor any time to catch up with himself. "Lieutenant." 

Hank benevolently pulled his hand away. Connor scrambled through the function of several still consciously operating behavioral systems. He had to restart breathing.

Connor caught Hank in a forceful kiss while reaching down to seize Hank's jeans and even the score. It was not fair to be the only one left in such a … state. Hank's hand shot up his back and grabbed a fistful of hair while the other trailed down his abdomen, playing the same rapid increase in sensitivity as before.

"Shit. Hang on, hang on," Hank leaned back across the bed, reaching back behind him.

"Wh- where are you going?" Connor looked up from his difficult work, pulling Hank's jeans off without sacrificing too much skin contact. He could see his own hair in his eyes, he must look a mess. 

"I just have to grab something."

"Do it later," Connor got the jeans down around Hank's knees and used his foot to kick them off behind him the rest of the way. He grabbed Hank's midsection and pulled him back.

"Babe, hang on, I swear, very important." Hank pushed Connor away and reached back again, muttering, "you are strong when you want to be."

Connor let go with extreme reluctance. At the very least Hank's waist was still pinned under him, the gray hair of his abdomen reaching down around the base of his dick. Connor grabbed the base of him, pushing down the hair and giving him a testing squeeze.

"Fuck, god, yes I know, I'm looking for it." Hank said.

Connor pushed his thumb against the same spot Hank had just overwhelmed him with. A thick bead of precum was already dribbling down from the head.

"Shit-" Hank groand, deep and husky, "got it." and in an instant he was back against Connor, pressing the bottle of lube into Connor's hand.

"Hank, strictly speaking this isn't necessary. I paid extra for self lubrication."

"It's not for you."

Connor processed that.  _ Oh _ . "Is there not preparation involved for human men? Logistically speaking I assumed-"

"You spent how much on that thing and you're not even gonna use it?"

"I'm gonna  _ use  _ it."

"Fuck yea you are."

Connor snorted a laugh against Hank's temple. 

"This is kind of what I pictured at the end of the night anyway. Not that I'm saying you're the type to put out on the first date but...."

Connor pushed Hank back into the bed, following after to kiss him deeply. "You always know how to kill a mood," he muttered with a smile, trailing kisses down Hank's neck and coming to pause at the top of his sternum to fumble with the lube.

It was so easy with Hank. Weeks ago Connor thought Hank was always a step ahead of him, socially. But that wasn't it at all. Hank was always right next to him, slowing his pace of Connor needed it, so if he stumbled Hank was there at his side to stumble too. Maybe it was performative... well, it surely was. Connor couldn't very well fault someone for being performative, but it was more like, mutual reassurance. Hank hung back and stumbled so Connor would do the same in return.

Connor pressed one slick finger inside Hank, all the while trailing kisses around the edge of his tattoo. Hank shifted beneath him and Connor felt Hank take his hand and move his finger, biting his own lip as he showed Connor the best way to work himself open, the angle he wanted. He pressed Connor's thumb into his perineum along with a second and third finger inside him before falling back fully and groaning deep. 

Connor leaned into it, bring his mouth up to Hank's, barely a kiss. Hank had shut his eyes at some point, which Connor did not appreciate. "Look at me." He said softly, leaning pushing back on one arm as his hand pressed deeper. It had the opposite of the intended effect as Hank only pitched his head back with a guttural moan. 

"Hank" Connor pitched his voice low but drew out his name like a whine. The tendons in Hank's neck flexed as he worked against his instincts to  look up from the bed. His eyes took one sweep over Connor before Connor pressed in again, watching the strain of focus run the whole of Hank, rippling down the muscles in his arms as he grabbed for Connor's waist. 

Connor let himself be pulled forward into a kiss, and wondered if there was a point of teasing where Hank would start to complain, he was well and worked open now. Maybe some other time Connor would bother to find out, the run of Hank's hand up his back, just like their first kiss, was enough to drive the intent out of his mind. He pulled his hand free with a little groan on Hank's part and pushed his hand once down his cock, coating himself with excess lube. 

Connor pressed Hank back into the mattress with a forceful kiss and then leaned up, leaving Hank there. He grabbed Hank's waist and pulled him down the mattress to get the angle of his legs just so before pressing into him carefully. 

The pressure of it sent a shudder through Connor's body as he struggled to keep the pace slow while he could. 

"Fuck you look good like that." Hank breathed out and Connor felt the words shoot through him like wave, making him press into Hank hard for the last few inches.

Connor felt it appropriate to tinge his words with breathy gasps, "Is this ok? Can I move?"

Rather than replying Hank flexed down and rolled his hips just so. Connor felt the servos in his hips stutter before he was pulling out and slamming back into Hank in a pattern of increasing frequency.

He was lost to it. The electricity running through his system was enough to make him fall forward, bracing himself with one hand on Hank's chest, his skin peeling away to white without his full awareness. He just wanted to send this feeling to Hank, he finally felt ok, in the moment, rather than pre-processing out the seconds in advance.

Hank grabbed his hand, pulling Connor lower so their fingers could intertwine in the sheets over his shoulder. Hank wanted to get that message too, and maybe that alone was enough to send something else through between them. Connor couldn't read his mind but he could read Hank, and Hank could do the same. They both wanted something that they were never for, but they didn't have to be limited like that. At the end of the day, whatever had caused them to end up missing parts and unable to connect was only making them as a reflection of their own broken shit. Fuck anyone who expected them to stay silent and complicit in an existence that denied their own selves.

Hank groaning Connor's name hit just just as hard as Hank gripping his hand, or the spare grazes of Hank's fingers on Connor's abdomen as he worked his own cock. Connor couldn't focus clearly. He felt Hank shutter through his own orgasm below him and that alone seemed to break through the haze in Connor's mind, shooting right down his own dick.

Nearly all non-critical systems closed. Connor collapsed forward onto the bed over Hank, struggling to hold himself up while his balance systems rebooted. 

His internal log's timestamp jumped forward by several seconds. He came to with his head rising and falling on Hank's heaving chest - not completely clear on how he had arrived there. His hand moved to his neck to find a tie that wasn't there.

"I think I restarted." 

"Yea, fuck, me too."

Connor laughed, and booted up his breathing, timing a rise and fall to match Hank's.

"Are you okay?" Hank asked, tired but concerned. 

Connor checked his vital systems. Several alerts. His core was warm, but not critical. Balance was still offline.

"Connor?" Hank asked, a little worry in his voice. Connor had waited too long, his conversational timing functions were non-critical and offline.

"I'm fine, running a systems diagnostic. I am not going to be able to maintain this heightened level of sensitivity on a daily basis. You've far exceeded the default settings."

"Bad defaults." Hank said, voice full of false judgement.

"I find it difficult to believe you operate at this level. I am already beginning to get overwhelmed."

"Already," Hank sounded proud of himself as he considered the word.

"I am returning to a four point two."

"No! Wait."

Connor waited.

"You could just, leave it as is and-" Hank was trying to talk around a dirty grin, "I mean, I swear not to take advantage of that when we are out." His voice indicated otherwise.

"I truly do not think you appreciate how far above the default you have set some of me. Even at the default seven point three jeans were… difficult."

Connor felt Hank's dick give a hopeful throb against his leg. "You wear really tight jeans." It sounded like Hank was saying that mostly to himself.

"A four point two will-"

"Six."

"I am not negotiating."

"Five? Point five I mean. Five point five?"

Connor was silent.

"Just maybe sometimes a five point five? Maybe a five point eight if I buy you a present? Maybe a six if I and squeeze your thigh when noone is looking?"

"I don't believe I am a part of this conversation anymore." Connor thought for a moment, "though, you make a good point, It is likely more natural if the sensitivity varied based on context. This explains foreplay."

"So then. Six it is."

"No."

"Right, sorry, you got me, a seven I guess  _ if you insist ." _

"Five point two." Connor conceded an entire integer.

"Yess, fuck yes. I will in no way abuse this," he said even as his hand dipped down to grip Connor's ass.

"Three."

"No no, sorry, went to far."

\--

When Kamski had first theorized how androids could be integrated into society he'd put forward the idea of 'routine'. As long as an android's other-ness was familiar and expected there was nothing for the human mind to catch on and worry about. Never interrupt a human's routine and they will never be bothered by an android. You can slip so many changes into the world as long as people don't have to think about the patterns they have formed in their day-to-day. 

It was one of the core elements of android behavior algorithms. Stay out of the way, behave as expected, make sure you're critical to achieving the routine.

Connor liked to watch Hank's new routine. They laid in bed in the morning, Connor pressed his nose into Hank's hair and Hank splayed out over Connor's chest. The sun came up. Hank grumbled. He rolled away and pushed a pillow over his head and muttered something. He got up and left Connor in the bedroom, the sounds of making coffee (Connor was supposed to slip in right there and do it instead), brushing teeth, the back door opening, Sumo barking, dog food hitting metal (Connor was supposed to do that too), the back door opening again. Hank came back to bed (he didn't make himself breakfast, Connor's system alerted him that he was supposed to do that for Hank too). Hank would come back with a book and slip on a pair of reading glasses from his nightstand. 

Connor laid in bed, he liked to stretch out completely under the covers and take up all the space available. When Hank came back he had to smack Connor in the leg with his book and mutter at him to move over. 

Eventually Connor knew they'd have to get up for work. On most days Hank was happy to be late while Connor could easily process paperwork from bed. However today he did have somewhere to be. 

Connor rolled out of bed reluctantly, kissing Hank and getting dressed.

The ride over was thankfully quick, Connor was excited for his first proper case at his new job.

He arrived, pocketing his coin and straightening his tie. Connor extended his hand out to Detective Reed first, then Nines, the lead detectives for this investigation. He smiled, "My name is Connor, I'm the android cases consultant  sent by Jericho."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor, apparently: I can only finish if I break the fourth wall and tell David Cage to go fuck himself.
> 
> There is gonna be a Hank POV epilogueish thing. I'll add it as the second in a series after this story, please keep an eye out for it!  
> I would love to hear your comments! I hope you liked this story!

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to contact me:  
> tumblr; [@dustatdusk](http://dustatdusk.tumblr.com/)  
> twitter; [@DustinLoam](https://twitter.com/DustinLoam) \- I post links to my original work here


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